With all the wacky weather we’ve been having, (what is this, 19th century London?) somebody deep within the Official Ubyssey Decision-Making Apparatus decided we needed a weather section. Are finals half over? Sure. But you'll just have to give us an extension. Please.
We can’t find anyone around the office who knows a damn thing about meteorology, so we tried the next best thing and consulted the chicken entrails. (If any farmers come around asking about their livestock, you didn’t see us.) Here’s what they said.
Monday
Light rain throughout the day, with a high of six degrees and a low of three.
Tuesday
Clear skies, about three degrees. Ominous augury of the coming days, as the entrails sing to us their discordant song.
Wednesday
Cloudy, with a chance of non-cloudy. Temperature will be somewhere between -200 and 97, with a 341 per cent margin of error. Look, you try reading these stupid things, they just look like entrails to me.
Thursday
Chicken liver, with a high of chicken pancreas. Chicken appendix throughout the day.
Friday
Tornado. Yeah, you heard us right. We’re talking at least EF5 here. At least. Be sure to close your curtains!
Saturday
Three degrees. Kelvin. Probably don’t go outside unless you’re from the prairies and used to that.
Sunday
An ill wind will blow through the city, bringing grim omens to chill the bones of soothsayers province-wide. Which is weird, because that damn thing was scheduled for right before the elections. Though I suppose it’ll do just as well for my finals. How am I supposed to study when my hands are covered in chicken viscera, anyway?
Whichever date my first final is on
Cascadian fault ruptures, plunging the entire city into an endless yawning chasm. Thus, I do not need to study for finals. I don’t have to! It’s gonna be fine!
Winter term 2
Just in case anyone tries anything funny like rescheduling my finals, Cthulhu will rise and bring forth an end to all things. Try rescheduling my finals when shoggoths are walking the Earth. That guy at the bus exchange ain’t wrong, just slightly premature.
A week after the start of winter term 2
I know how crafty these UBC people are. They’re still gonna try to reschedule my finals. Well, they shouldn’t even try, because on this day every other country, seeing the threat posed by Great Cthulhu, will declare nuclear war on British Columbia. So, yeah, don’t bother with the finals, okay?
A week subsequent to the previous week
Just in case there are any more final-rescheduling attempts, the rapture will occur, bringing all the righteous to heaven and leaving the world’s sinners to rot on this meaningless sphere. We reckon the Ubyssey staff are probably good there, but to all you remaining UBC administrators, I’ll request a concession on grounds of being way more holy than you.
5,700,000,000 AD
The sun will go nova, incinerating the Earth in a hail of fire and plasma. Finals will be rescheduled to the following week at UBC Alpha Centauri, but I’ll have managed to study a little by then. Maybe.
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