Intimate encounters of the third kind

An excerpt from a tattered notebook found on campus



The Lewd is not The Lewd without MS Paint.

Journal Entry, April 21st, ‘22


Exterior set, night. The remnants of a cold winter slosh around the sidewalks of campus as I walk the beat, accompanied by the fading memories of a different time. A single beam of moonlight silhouettes the hulking metal colossus of Blizzard T. Husky in the middle ring, giving me pause. I shake the rain from my coat as its bronze eyes pierce into my very soul. “How’s it hanging?” I ask. The dog does not answer. After a moment I tear my gaze away and continue along my solitary path. It is unwise to linger, as these streets are not kind to people who ask inconvenient questions. 


The metal beast watches me go, silently. It always watches.


Much has been written about The Dean. He is enigmatic, a dynamo of energy. He wears funny hats, he frolics, he plays in the snow. He eats berry pies and posts on the ‘Gram. But I cannot shake the feeling that there is something he isn’t telling us. I come to the Administration building, and look up at its imposing brick walls. A cloud drifts across the moon. He dwells here, probably. Nobody really knows. Once, a lifetime ago, Bonnie did too. 


Some say The Dean subsumed her, like an amoeba. More zealous students suggest he is eternal, that he was always here, and always will be. Maybe, this Dean and Bonnie are the same person. Perched in administration like some Kafkaesque fever dream, he watches over us, telling us to #HUSKYup and avoid intimate encounters. I yearn for simpler times, before the deans knew how to operate social media and slide into our DMs to warn us against fraternization. What’s wrong with intimate encounters, anyway?


Suddenly, as I stand alone with my thoughts, collar raised against the cold wind, he is there. He looks at me, and smiles. The moonlight flashes in his spectacles. “HUSKYup,” he says, and draws closer along the sidewalk, “Connect on a deeper level.” They let him out after dark, I realize, to my growing terror. And he knows. He knows about the intimate encounters. His teeth seem awfully sharp, up close.