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Valentine's Day has long been heralded as a day filled with love and boxes of chocolates, both the metaphorical and the delicious kinds. But this year Cupid's arrow struck far and wide, inflaming the passions of students and faculty alike all across campus and leading to a sexile epidemic unlike anything the University has ever experienced before. The holiday once respected for being the day on which love is found has quickly transformed into the day on which love is made.
Reports of these promiscuous quarantines maintain that the plague of horniness came on suddenly, beginning shortly before noon on Friday, February 12th. One of the first known incidents was recorded when freshman Peter Young was spotted hurriedly fleeing Champlain Hall.
Recounted Young: "I was in Mochamp with two of my friends, and then suddenly they looked at each other and it was like they weren't human anymore. I tried to talk to them but it was like they couldn't hear me. They just started going at each other and threw me out of the room, like sex-crazed zombies. To tell the truth I was kind of hoping for a threesome, but no dice."
Young's compatriots are being labeled as Patients 0 and 00 in what can only be described as a nymphomania epidemic. Within hours thousands of stories like Young's began emerging from sources across the campus.
"We were just trying to enjoy Chicken Finger Friday when the sex came," muttered Alice Brinks '11, clutching a torn piece of corduroy in her trembling hands. "It all just happened so fast. my roommate Sheena and I got separated for one second and the next thing I know she's stark naked dancing on the sandwich bar groaning 'SEXXXX!!! RARRRRR!!!' This is all that's left of her."
Even the largest of venues has fallen victim to this horribly sexy contagion, as sources have recalled seeing socks secured over the doors to the OMAC, Barus and Holley and the Rock.
"I was at a hockey game in Meehan when two players got into a fight on the ice," said Alicia Halpert '12. "Things were just starting to get heated, but suddenly the punches turned to slaps and then the slaps turned into caresses and then they were just on top of each other. I think they're still in there, doing the nasty. They've got the whole damn stadium sexiled."
By nightfall, the sheer magnitude of the outbreak drove a shivering group of virgins and Computer Science Majors to erect a humble shantytown on the main green in order to attempt to survive the long, cold holiday with minimal casualties and loneliness. As the survivors began to share stories, they quickly realized that there was not a single free dorm room on campus for the sexiled to seek refuge in.
Agreed Tammy Jones '12: "There was absolutely nowhere to go. My roommate and I got sexiled out of our own room. I didn't even know that was possible."
Engineering Concentrator Edward Halifax '10 is one of the handful of students who considers his infected peers to be the lucky ones.
Said Haliwax, "I thought I'd be erecting something today, but not a goddamn shanty."
Students' sudden, irrational urge to copulate has even permeated the seemingly impenetrable confines of the shoddily crafted tent city, a problem which recently appointed mayor Eric Dubois '13 has been forced to face head on.
"It's sad," said Dubois. "I see these lonely nerds coming together as couples, bonding over their pathetic romance-less lives. They begin to hold hands, to possibly kiss on the cheek - and then I'm forced to shoot them to protect mankind as we know it."
After attempting to combat the rampant spread of arousal with photographs of the elderly, electric shock therapy and bright, headache-inducing floodlights, Dubois has finally come to the conclusion that the only cure for the disease is a "double shot of lead latte, hold the whipped cream."
Humanity's only hope appears to be one Sophomore, Brittany Faley, who was given a hickey by an infected nymphomaniac but proved to be immune to the disease. Strangely, however, Faley has decided to remain in her Grad Center Suite, testing the strength of her seemingly enhanced immune system.
"Epidemic? What epidemic?" asked Faley, holding back her stumbling, grunting suitemate Earl Dawson '10. "Are you suggesting that Earl only loves me because of some disease? No, no. This is just months of sexual tension boiling over. We're in love. I wouldn't call Earl here a sicko just because he jumped my bones." She added, "Though a little foreplay would have been nice."
