When Michelle Ma sent out an email notifying all Whitman students of an “Emergency Alert,” most students dismissed it as another mistakenly sent email. Indeed, mere minutes later, she sent out an email apologizing that she had mistakenly sent out the “Emergency Alert” and that everything was “just fine and certainly no need to investigate.”

Yet, a very un-Whitmany idea drifted across my thought-thinkers, and I mused to do the opposite of what someone important had told me. I politely sent her an email and waited for her response. Yet no answer came. It was like I was emailing the Student Engagement Center, who never fucking responds to any emails (Seriously though, I sent them five emails in a row and they did not respond to one). Something suspicious was up.

I had one last resort besides email because, like many others of my generation, talking to someone on the phone scares the living shit out of both me and my lower intestine. I quickly texted Jorge Ponts, and he responded to me saying, “Of course we can chat. You’re still made of human flesh, right!?!”

Ponts sat down with me in his office, and he began to explain to me what had happened: “I’m about to retire, brah. Of course I can talk about dis shit. I might even reveal to you that I’m wearing a skin suit. Just kidding! Saw that article last week. I’m not a fucking lizard.” I coolly responded and he began to tell me the unfortunate tale of a first-year who had gone mad.

“His brain had never been exposed to kale and kombucha before coming to Whitman,” said Ponts. “After his West-Coast, new-money, raised-by-hippies roommate showed him a few PETA videos and introduced him to psyclobin mushrooms and cannabis, he was quick to cling onto this completely new lifestyle, which was quite a shock to his system.”

“Interesting,” I responded. The thought of PETA had distracted me from the conversation and reminded that I had a few microwavable steaks sitting on my counter at home. “Continue, please.”

Ponts flicked his tongue and brought some dried flies to his mouth before positioning himself more in the sun. “Sorry, that’s better. Anyway, where was I? Right! Kale began warping his brain, and some students in his section, mostly those who only ordered meat at the dining halls, began to disappear. After a brief investigation, we found their bodies decomposing in compost pile behind Jewett.”

“He couldn’t use lye…” I started to say––

“Because of the environmental impact! Exactly.”

Ponts explained to me that the killer hadn’t done much harm because he had only killed a few Phi first-years, and you “can’t really tell them apart anyway.” The case would be of course handled internally, and the WWPD was fine with that after getting a sizable sum donated to their retirement endowment. The kid was going to “probably get a slap on the wrist only. But at least he left those half-decomposed bodies for me and the trustees to snack on!”

We both had a good laugh and Ponts’ tail nearly went right through the window.