This article is satirical and fake. It is a part of our annual Rectum special April Fools edition.

“A Menace”, “Curly-Haired Looney”, many call him. I say he is more than just a simple campus clown, he is the man we should put all blame for everything wrong with our lives. His name is Lucas Freeberg.

I first met him in the dusk of the shadow of NDSU’s welcome week. He was doing an impressively horrible job at playing spikeball in the concrete, tree-decorated canal between the Memorial Union and A.G. Hill. For some reason he was playing spikeball with himself, even though it is often played with other people. But I wasn’t surprised, He had the appearance of a man with little human interaction, a man in escape, not in the literal sense (though all that separated him from an escaped criminal was a cartoonish orange jumpsuit), but in the sense that he had the look in his eyes that made one think of a stray dog: possibly one with a bad case of rabies. He shuffled with his hand robotically at his side and his legs stiff from the hip down. I walked up with my head on a swivel, who knows what this man was capable of.

“What’s up?” he said, smiling a wicked yellow smile.

“Hi,” I said, desperately trying to shuffle away from the creature attempting to start a conversation with me. 

“Want to play?” he asked, I initially refused, but had a little devil in my conscience toying with the idea.

He stood there, still as the statue of Glenn Hill a few paces behind us. Taking a moment to soak in the absurdity of this strange fellow before me, I reluctantly said “yes” and joined in a 1v1 game against him.

He introduced himself. “Lucas,” he had said. Who knew if it was his real name, or if it was a simple way for this guy to not blow his cover to the alien mothership. I played along with it, introducing myself shortly after. He did not attempt to shake my hand, nor did he attempt to communicate in any way except in a handful of grunts and hand gestures. He lost every single round of spikeball that we played. After about 10 instances of him missing the ball and face planting into the cement, I began to wonder if he even knew what the game consisted of. In fact, where did he get this spikeball set from anyway? There is a high possibility it is stolen from some unknowing middle-schoolers, or possibly from a local Walmart, who knows.

After about 30 minutes of playing, my curiosity for this specimen had vanished. I left without saying goodbye, heading back to my dorm and trying to scrub the awkward interaction from my mind.

I didn’t think much of it until the next week, when in the West Dining Center I saw him eating alone at a table. Part of me felt bad for the guy, maybe he just needed a friend. My empathy got the best of me, and I decided to sit next to him. Before I knew it, we started having an actual conversation. It wasn’t substantive or very engaging, but it was a conversation nonetheless. But just as I was warming up to him, He got up and spilled his entire tray of pasta alfredo on my newly pressed shirt. At first I thought it was an accident, then that wicked, corn-colored smile erupted from his mouth. He ran out of the Dining Hall, shuffling past other students and out the door. Thoughts ran through my head as to why this man, this cretin, would purposefully spill food on me: No reason could come to mind. I got up and wiped myself as best I could, and left with a vengeance in my heart. 

If you see this man around campus: do not befriend him, do not play into his little psychotic mission against humanity, just see him as the monster he truly is.

I have since moved campuses, now occupying UND. But, every now and then I see a curly head or yellow smile in the wild, I get chills. I haven sent copies of this warning to several Universities and businesses in the area, if you are reading this warning letter: be wary, and report him to the phone number below.

(800)-430-FREEBERG