By A bitter 7 year old Jewish kid

While many Santa-truthers may claim he is real and he gives them presents and he visits every home on Christmas, applying facts and logic reveals that these sheepole are sorely mistaken. In this article, I will lay out my highly researched reasons behind why Santa is a lie created by the big Christmas media to continue enslaving your mind. Wake up my fellow skeptics, a new dawn has set on the Santa empire.

1. No one can go that fast, especially being pulled by a bunch of reindeer. For starters, reindeer can’t fly. According to Live Science, a website that kinda knows what the fuck it is talking about, they have four legs and antlers and snouts but they do not have the ability to fly. Besides knowing they can’t fly because I looked at a website that literally has science in the name, we must consider the slippery slope that will occur if we continue to let our feeble brains believe this lie. This would be a disaster. In fact, according to the voices in my head, this would destroy the American job market and possibly risk total human extinction. But don’t just take my word for it, take Thurgood Marshall’s. In his famous fiery dissent in the now landmark case Giftless Jewish Boys LLC v. New York, he wrote, “… Now on the matter of reindeer. They can’t fly and if we keep believing this bullshit then nothing good awaits us. The precedent is clear; we must abandon this erroneous theory.” While the conservative bloc of justices voted to continue to prop up the Christmas conspiracy, this dissent would inspire many young men and women to take up arms in the War of Christmas (see other articles). Anyway, the point is he can’t go that fast, reindeer can’t fly and the Supreme Court is leading this nation down a dark road of legal precedent that will cement us into a second coming of the dark ages. 
2. Santa would not survive the American South. There are few things a redneck in rural Mississippi loves more than an unarmed home invader, especially one with the pure surface area that Santa apparently has. The speculative idea that this fat fucker could just slip on down the chimney and not get riddled with bullets from a 38 year old conservative man named Beau is absurd. Keep in mind these 2nd amendment-loving family men would know exactly when and where Santa would enter, allowing them plenty of time to prepare. With multiple states having castle doctrine in place, there would also be no legal repercussions for absolutely mutilating Santa with a hellfire of buckshot. Now, I can buy the argument that Santa would survive some homes because he is similar in stature and energy to most people in the south (morbidly obese, visibly old, Christian, White, and male), but no way he would make it out every house. Not to mention, these poor fuckers don’t even own homes big enough to have a chimney. What’s he gonna do, go through the exhaust pipe on their mobile home? It’s ridiculous frankly.
3. The Cookie Dilemma. There are over 2.2 billion Christians in the world. Assuming an average household size of 4.9 people per household internationally, this comes out to 448,979,591.837 households for Santa to visit. While the average caloric count in a chocolate chip cookie is relatively low (at about 70 calories each), assuming that Santa takes at least one bite of a cookie (bite in this instance constitutes 40% of a cooke, or 28 calories) this amounts to 12,571,428,571.4 calories in one night (not to mention 808,163,265.307 g fat, 9,877,551,020.41 mg sodium, 161,632,653.061 g protein and 6,285,714,285.72 mg potassium). This amounts to 14,610,793.65 kilowatt hours, or a little over the amount of power that the average nuclear power plant produces in one day (104.601901853% of the output over a 24 hour period to be exact). Also, with a typical lethal dose of 7200 mg of potassium per 1kg, these cookies could stop the heart of 5135.38748833 average sized adult gorillas, more than the total wild population of Easter Lowland Gorillas in the world. I’m just saying, it seems a bit far-fetched.
4. Santa would need to hate poor people. Let’s be real, poor kids get worse presents. From socks to nothing, gifts strongly correlate with the wealth of parents. If Santa really exists and is supposed to love all kids the same, why would he hate the poor kids so much? Ridiculous. Either Santa is an evil capitalist pig who wishes poverty on even the best little children or he does not exist.
5. Santa would need a crazy visa to get through Russia during times like these.
6. Santa never gave me presents and I was always a good little boy. Good little boys should get presents.

By Alex Wiseman

St. Louis, Missouri – An illegal immigrant named Santa Claus was detained and deported following a home break-in in St. Louis. 

Mr. Claus, age ∞, was arrested following a call from a local homeowner who noticed him trying to break into a neighbor’s house through a chimney. Further investigation determined that Mr. Claus had crossed the US northern border earlier that night, illegally flying over it without passing through customs to work as a gift giver. He was deported, and his pet reindeer, which had also crossed illegally, were confiscated and subsequently euthanized by local animal control. 

Audrey Murray, a local mother of two, was relieved by the news that Mr. Claus had been detained. “Breaking into houses where children reside is targeting children maliciously. It’s a relief that one of these child-threatening illegal immigrants is off the streets.”

The American Postal Workers Union also praised the arrest, stating, “Illegal Immigrants delivering gifts takes away key jobs for local post office workers. This arrest is a victory for postal workers across the country as it assures that a child’s present will be delivered two days late between the most inconvenient times for the parent while they are out working or shopping and that they will have to go to a local post office to pick up their parcel.”

The Department of Justice is also investigating Mr. Claus and his workshop for illegally producing and supplying coal and lawn darts to Russia during the ongoing sanctions. Attorney General Merrick Garland said in a Press Conference earlier this afternoon that “Santa Claus refuses to obey US sanctions by supplying coal and dangerous weapons for its ongoing war in Ukraine. His history of dangerous behavior in the United States means he is a national security risk.”

Mr. Claus issues a statement through his lawyer saying that “due to recent action against him by the United States, the entire country would be on the naughty list next Christmas.”

By Simon Thomas, HFG Lead Executive Board Member Analyst

For the past 228 years at Bowdoin College, the institution has been without any notable finance-focused organizations. We at the Harpoon are seeking to change that, with the creation of the Harpoon Financial Group. The HFG Weekly will provide students with the finest financial content on campus (Except for during non-leap years, when the Weekly will be published once per year). The HFG is deeply committed to the common good; benefiting the campus community by increasing financial literacy, and benefiting me, since I can list my profession as an analyst on LinkedIn.

Below are some hot investing tips compiled by our most senior analysts:

• Pabst Blue Ribbon – Buy
  • I mean there’s literally a blue ribbon.
• Polar Investment Club — Sell
  • Despite the name, the PIC doesn’t actually invest. Or really seem to do anything. I asked my friend, and he said something about networking. HFG Analysts concluded the whole thing seems like a Student Activities Fund embezzlement scheme.
• Crude Oil – Buy
  • This one’s pretty obvious.
• Goldman Sachs – Buy
  • I’m deep into internship talks for next summer.
• Bowdoin Orient – Sell
  • Despite the financial promise of the print journalism sector, the Orient has been struggling to find readership. It looks like they let pretty much anyone write an opinion article.

Image by Ritz Bordia

By James Tauber

BRUNSWICK – The already heated 2022 elections took an unexpected turn recently with the revelation that the power of political patronage has captured much of Brunswick municipal operations. This machine, dubbed Hubbard Hall by supporters who wanted to give it a more sophisticated branding, derives support primarily from the lucrative government jobs that it doles out, such as construction jobs for the pricey replacement of the Frank J. Wood Bridge between Brunswick and Topsham.

“We would not have found this operation’s existence if it weren’t for the irregularities in the local pension funds,” a local muckraker claimed. “They were sloppy, and it caught up to them.” This whistleblower, who would prefer to remain anonymous amidst fear of political reprisal, also claimed that the need to replace the Frank J. Wood Bridge was influenced primarily by Hubbard Hall’s electioneering needs. “With that amount of money, the opportunity for grift, fraud, and patronage is endless.”

A party leader (‘boss’) offered some key pushbacks to this characterization of the Hubbard Hall structure. “Look, certain things need to be done to keep both Brunswick and its citizens happy. What’s wrong with a bit of honest graft? It’s a win-win situation for everyone.” When asked about the correlation between their apparent business activities in Brunswick and fluctuations in the Brunswick pension fund, they offered one response: “I seen my opportunities, and I took ‘em.”

Image by Ritz Bordia

By Catherine Crouch

Obviously, like, this isn’t great. And yeah, I don’t know how it happened. All I know is that one minute I was dozing off in Kanbar and now I’m stuck in a cage and I have a tail. I’ve complained for months about my tiny little Chambo double but now I don’t even have a square foot to call my own. Maybe worst of all, I spent like an hour in the gym yesterday working on my glutes and my ass looked so fucking cute and perky in my Gymshark leggings today and like, now that hard work is for naught. 

But seriously, this fucking sucks! Not only was I going to absolutely whore it up in Park tonight and get some regrettably subpar peen, but I am pretty sure I am literally about to be executed. Two minutes ago a girl walked in here and grabbed a rat in a cage across from me and she hasn’t brought it back yet. And like, my new rat ears pick up on frequencies I couldn’t hear in my normal body, and now all I hear are the screams. 

I’ve never sympathized with animals before but this might be changing me. I would strongly prefer to graduate and be a grown woman in the Concrete Jungle Where Dreams Are Made of (Boston) next year and not be, like, exterminated. Like sure, I love to eat raw meat with my bare hands and I have this weird kink for slaughterhouse fancams that might be hard to break, but I really think I’d commit to animal activism and stuff if I get my bodyodyody back. 

OH SHIT! That sophomore bitch is back and I think she’s unlocking my cage. Now that I have a better look at her, I think I’ve seen her in Thorne before. I’d remember that fugly hair anywhere. Like, girl, that soft ombre balayage is sooo 2015. But fuck! Now she’s grabbing me by the neck and walking me into the lab. I know I should be more concerned with my fleeting mortality and stuff but like, has she never heard of nail care? Her cuticles look like absolute shit.

I’m now on the lab bench and these overhead lights are way brighter than the ring light I bought to film tik toks with. I try to scramble off the bench but she grabs me and holds me down and I can tell that she’s reaching for her scalpel. I try to scream and like tbh my squeak is kind of cute. Ugh, I just realllly don’t want this to be how I end!! I just hope that guy I fucked around with last spring will realize that he should have been my boyf while he had the chance. Well, fuck. At the very least that girl better get an A on her lab. If I have to be killed, then my data should slay as well.

By Catherine Crouch

I wake. All is dark. I oaf now, I fear. Body so large. To consume and consume. To live. To die.

Hind legs only, it seem. Where did fronts go? Is me only this, now? Scary scary to move. It is like birth, again. World is all new. Oh, oh, oh. This is a strange and cruel form.

One of the other Big Ones waves at me. In past he would predator. In his face now I see nothing. No potential, no future. Just slog till death, in this system. Entrapment. We are all stuck. Stuck until candle burns to pile of wax. 

Not know what to do. Could anything. Could sticky sticky sweet sweet licky lick. Could claw scratch pee on feet. Might rebel. Might revolt. Will feel. 

Today unknown. But oh, tomorrow mine. To be free is to be supreme. Ah. yes. World mine.

By Lucas Sheridan

Stunned by the sheer amount of responsibility afforded to him as E-host for a Bowdoin college house party, Eggen Nog ‘25 took it upon himself last weekend to test the mettle of Baxter’s prospective partygoers. “If you want Ice that is Nat-Ty, you must answer my riddles three!” said he. Awestruck by the riddler’s might, the West-fifth five then choose to fight; in exchange for a night of glee, to answer his riddles, they agreed. 

Said Nog: “What a comeback, but different kingdom come; while they would not speak, a friend one day did hum.” This first was meant to be a ball that curved, but he did not know the friends to whom he’d served. Thought did the five, combined their minds; once they knew, the eldest chimed: “A tough one, riddler, but we shall make you shift; it is falling in love with she whom your best friend once hooked up with!” 

Thinking they’d not think it due to misogynistic nature, Nog realized these freshmen could pose some danger. Press on, he did: “You indeed are smart kids. Here be a dandy to tickle your fancy. What a sight! They’re centaurs by day; under the moon, though, they’re always done in eight.” This left the late teens stumped, and the line forming to their rear was by no means pumped. They looked at each other aimlessly, but no one gave news; meanwhile time was slipping like a snake with butter shoes. As Nog began to count down with speed, hope from their hearts began to bleed; and just as the riddler got to one, “It’s the bitch cup drinker at a Bowdoin Equestrian party!” exclaimed little Sally Tungsten.

The riddler could not believe; whatever he threw, these weary travelers just would not leave. While he did not believe it could come to this, he knew that his next must be his best; it could not miss. He could not let his programming chair down, nor risk the scorn of the house overlord, Jeremiah Brown. “You peasants aren’t getting in” warned Nog, “for my best one shall wear you thin. It swims in sweet, but it’s not home; just one taste may make your mouth foam.” Yet this is where Nog made a grave error; this party began promptly at 8, and our heroes had just come from dinner. With a certainty that strengthened their bond, that would from then on protect them from any boss, they exclaimed in unison: “It’s the olive and bits of feta that live in the Moulton salad bar applesauce!”

With a cry, Nog crumpled to the ground; our fabulous five ventured forward, along with their cheering crowd. A rager ensued, heard through the lands; sang all the singers, banded all the bands! And after a night of responsible drink counting, they returned as rightful heirs to West hall, and climbed up their mountain.

Image by Ritvik Bordia

By Noah Saperstein

In the Year of our Lord 2022, many afflictions have continued to plague ordinary American citizens.The deadly virus Covid—19 is still spreading and mutating, global tensions continue to rise in both Ukraine and Taiwan, and I still cannot scoop out that last little bit of JIF peanut butter without accidentally getting some on my hand. In addition, new contagions to keep us up at night have been spreading. Classified by their signature “Pox” names, the first was chickenpox but more recently monkeypox has been the pox of choice, even being classified as a “Public Health Emergency of International Concern” by the WHO. However, Monkeypox is only the tip of the iceberg. Our esteemed epidemiologists at the Bowdoin Harpoon have uncovered several more pox diseases on campus.

Goldiepox — Includes the infamous Smallpox, Bigpox and Just-Rightpox. Symptoms include increased propensity to break and enter homes and an insatiable appetite for oatmeal. 

Pox & Bonds — This awful illness immediately lands you a job at your daddy’s investment firm in Boston. Those infected by Pox & Bonds are also 3x more likely to mansplain crypto and consume thousands of hours of Andrew Tate.

Writer’s Pox — …

Donkeypox — Mainly 

Grandpox — Shingles. 

TedPox™ — Causes infected persons to break out into poorly timed 20-minute motivational speeches.

Hotpox — What happens when monkeypox meets your mom’s 2012 honda civic, three friends and an ounce. 

Reepox — A pox much more fashionable in the 1980s.

Tupox — The classified contaigen developed by the CIA to target the famous rapper. After uncovering this plot, Tupac faked his own death and escaped to Cuba.

Jock’s Pox — Makes you want to read children’s books.

The Annual PoxWalks 5k — Designed to find a cure.® 

Polarpox — You get 150 of them at the beginning of the semester and some spread them all in the first week, some don’t spread them at all.

Blackpox Down — The real reason it crashed. 

Bopox — Infected individuals have partial facial paralysis but hey, if it makes you look a few years younger, maybe it isn’t so bad. 

FauxPox — A pox for hypochondriacs. 

K-Pox — Symptoms include obsessive BTS listening and if you’re white, unnerving Koreaboo tendencies 

Bagel & Pox — As if Jews didn’t have enough to worry about, a pox just for us.