T HE FAT HEAD
Vol. 2oz, Iss. 80085 | Tuesday, April 5, 2022
The Annual Student Newspaper
of This God Forsaken Institute
flathatnews.com | @botetourtsquat
SQUIRREL NEWS
Squirrels terrorize students: haunt our dreams ALESSIA SHARTPOP THE FAT HEAD
Years ago, the students of Jefferson Hall captured a squirrel, killed it, and stuck it in the freezer on the second floor. Although the hooligans did not get to eat their prized catch in the stew of their dreams, their actions did have a lasting effect on campus here at the College of William and Mary. It’s kind of like when you kill a cockroach. The squirrel juices sent a signal to all of the squirrel brethren who live here, calling for attack on the students inhabiting their rightful land. And since then, they have been plotting. The first sign of the squirrel-pacalypse was the squirrel who had no regard for its own life when it had the opportunity to kill a student in cold blood. I will call this squirrel Jimmy. Jimmy leapt into the path of an innocent bike rider — I guess they exist — with the intention to create such a bump in the road that she would flip over her own handlebars. Thankfully, Jimmy isn’t a good shot. He missed his target, and she lived another day. The student can no longer travel to that side of campus, though, so maybe Jimmy had a small win. Then, there was a shift in the squirrel energy surrounding the site of the original crime, Jefferson Hall. It was a warm spring night, the sun setting almost like a movie, but the movie was about to change genre. When the student stopped by the trash can to throw away her drink from dinner, a squirrel, let’s call this one Jeff, hurled itself out of the can, hitting her in the arm. She started hysterically laughing and crying at the same time. Legend has it that Jeff haunts her dreams. I think I’ve seen her flinch at every trash can on campus. Jeff did his duty. The squirrels will not rest until students abandon this campus once and for all. Do we root for justice or the perpetuation of the TWAMP race?
GOODWILL GARLIC GIRLIE / THE FAT HEAD
GOODWILL GARLIC GIRLIE / THE FAT HEAD
Behind Closed Doors: The birth of Fat Head: A story of enemies to lovers: Flatthew Hatthew and Squatman Mansquat (Flat Hat x Botetourt Squat) (nsfl) (rated x) (au) Fat Head Editorial Board
In the beginning, God created heaven and the earth. Then he created a divine entity commonly known as Flatthew Hatthew (he/him). Hatthew was the paragon of journalism, all that was factual and true in the world. For some reason unknown to man, Hatthew really enjoys swamp weather and sought residence in Williamsburg, VA. He found the humidity and asbestos comforting, despite their detrimental effects to his pages. One hundred years after the creation of Hatthew, and unbeknownst to him, God created Squatman Mansquat (all pronouns). Mansquat embodied all that was opposite of Hatthew, eschewing journalism and ethics and working for cheap laughs and vague references while willfully transacting in disinformation. Initially, Hatthew found Mansquat to be little more than a nuisance. He was only a child, not a competitor in news or staff, and kind of ugly (Hatthew, it should be said, is a beacon of perfection and beauty). Eventually, as he grew older, Mansquat proved a thorn in Hatthew’s side, but like a really really small one that was fairly easy to ignore. Plus he got hot. But that thorn was growing and growing until one day, the day, everything came to a head. That day God came to Mansquat and Hatthew to announce the creation of a new minor deity. It would be named Wrenjamin Journal (it/its/ abor/ted) and represented a small, unwonted, and downtrodden group. God told the two older deities that it was their duty to raise Wrenjamin to become yet another respected publication. Mansquat and Hatthew were split over the rearing of Wrenjamin. Mansquat wanted to teach it the ways of disinformation and bad memery. Hatthew wanted to enforce strict values and ethics, never leaving room for fun. The two fought fiercely and their battle created the depression we now know as Campus Center. Eventually, with their strength exhausted and little to show for it, they agreed to leave Wrenjamin on the Grim Dell mattress, an
unfortunate amalgam of its adopted parents and a sign of what happens when mixing fact and fiction.. Left to its own devices and ignored by its parents, Wrenjamin managed to cause more memorable kerfuffles to the swamp-dwelling humans of Williamsburg in its two years than all the actions of Hatthew and Mansquat in their combined 124 years. In those two years, Mansquat and Hatthew had grown and changed. The experience of rearing a child had left them forever intertwined. This was best reflected by the decreasing clarity between fact and fiction, and evidenced by the mixing of acolytes between Mansquat and Hatthew. While Wrenjamin laid waste to the world above, all was quiet in the basement of Campus Center. Flatthew and Squatman had moved in together and shared an office, computers, chairs, and even a bathroom. One day on their shared printing schedule, Squatman and Flatthew were distracted from their work, entranced by each other’s fonts. While converting Flatthew’s InDesign file to a pdf, Squatman joked, “Quote me like one of your french girls.” But it wasn’t a joke. Flatthew looked up from the computer screen into Squatman’s deep, hypnotic swirling eyes (they really do swirl, like a melting chocolate and vanilla soft serve swirl in a cardboard-flavored sugar cone on the Ocean City, NJ boardwalk in late August of 1995 as you wait expectantly, hornily, for the mainstream US premier of the New Zealand Muppets satire film Meet the Feebles next week). Flatthew flew across the desk to Squatman’s supple and nubile 100-year younger body. “Is that a stray Oxford comma in your pants or do you want me to fill your pages in the Campus Center bathroom next to the piss fountain?” Squatman, a really remarkably and concerningly large, massive even, fan of piss culture, was frozen with anticipation. “I’ve never wanted anything more,” he managed to squeak
out. Flatthew gently took Squatman’s calloused hand and sprinted out the door, eager for physical contact. Squatman, for his part, was eager for the sex too, but mostly to drink from the piss fountain after completion as a way to top off Flatthew’s creamy, flavorful fish dip. The two quickly went at it, Flatthew naturally taking the lead and dominance over the inexperienced Squatman. “If you can take a beating on Yik Yak you can certainly take this beating,” growled Flatthew before he lifted the plastic press pass from around his neck and flogged Squatman’s center fold. Squatman let out a moan so great it caused the first major earthquake in Virginia’s recent history, a 6.9 on the Richter scale. Virginia wasn’t the only thing quaking on that fateful evening as black, white, and read-all-over confetti flew between the two. The periodical passion only lasted the attention span of their readers — that’s to say a few seconds — but for Flatthew and Squatman, those magical moments were enough to renew their relevance for the next centennial. With a final grunt, Flatthew filled Squatman’s pages with his sticky, probably radioactive, schlong sludge. Squatman’s thin paper dripped with a mix of sweat, ink, and both deities’ love liquor. As they wiped themselves clean, Flatthew and Squatman did not notice willymilk concoction begin to swirl, transcending beyond the newspaper pages, much to the likes of Squatman’s enchanting eyes. As Squatman bent down for his post-coital drink, savoring the flavor of Campus Center piss filtered back through the water fountain, some of their combined juices fell into the piss. Squatman walked away satisfied and unaware of what he had inadvertently helped create. In just 12 short months the product of that Fatius Headius was born and today your eyes grace his pages. And I bet you like that you’re reading some piss cum paper you deplorable little Twamp (derogatory).
Wellness center to offer homeopathic treatments for COVID-19
Please god donʼt send me any angry emails Iʼm tired of hopping on Zoom calls with yall TAKE A WILD GUESS FAT HEAD DRUNKARD
Monday, April 4, the College of William & Mary’s wellness center and CBD dispensary announced that it would be prescribing ivermectin for students diagnosed with COVID-19. “It was an easy decision, because there’s absolutely no evidence that it works, but there isn’t evidence that it DOESN’T work,” Wellness Center representative Clare Mydia said in a statement scrawled on 18th-century papyrus. This statement is categorically false, as proven through multiple FOIA requests to the university, which show emails with subject lines such as “Andrew Wakefield was Index At Your Moms House
Inside Your Walls 2 3 4-7 8
right” and “nobody will get this reference, please take it out of the article.” In addition to the Ivermectin, each student will also receive a complimentary DVD of Joe Rogan’s anti-vaccine screed, combining both an outdated mode of technology with problematic content in a way that only William and Mary can. Alongside the questionable treatment, the Student Health Center will be administering sneezes directly in the mucous membranes of uninfected students. According to Flat Hat reporting, over 100 students have been sneezed on in the past 6 years. “It’s better than a vaccine!” Mydia said. Upon the Flat Hat’s criticism of this tactic, pointing out that the Wellness Center probably should not be encouraging sneezing on
Behold: The wisened viasage of former Fat Head Editor-In-Chief Larry Hogan
other people, Mydia protested. “Listen, WE don’t sneeze on people. We send people to the state-sanctioned sneeze room where they get sneezed ON. There’s a difference!” The Wellness Center also boasts its vast array of essential oils which serve as a panacea for sick students. “And the best part is that if you recruit other people to get the essential oils, you get a cut of the profits,” Mydia said. “We don’t see anything wrong with that at all, why are you pointing to a diagram of a pyramid?” From Flat Hat investigative reporting, we can conclusively prove that the Wellness Center is also receiving funding from the Sackler family, whose devastating promotion of opioids caused a crisis across the United States. Inside Anybody
Please Iʼm begging you I’m so lonely god please someone let me in I’m just trapped in the pages let me be trapped in you instead
In leaked emails uncovered by our news team, Vice President of Wellness Suitman McGee contacted the Sackler family with one plea: “please get these students to shut the fuck up.” Heavily drugged and smelling like peppermint oils, the William and Mary student population is healthier than ever, despite the fact that they all desperately need therapy for their daddy issues. Unfortunately, the therapy wait time is currently over 5 years, meaning that “that guy” in your government class won’t stop being an insufferable dickhead for many years to come. But hey, some grapefruit essential oils may help.
Inside The Folds
See ESSENTIAL OILS page 8
Two in the Pink Time One in the Stink Time A profile on Candice Large (Dick fit in yo mouf )