The line was long for Cafsgiving every year, but this year the notorious line stretched down the ELC stairs, out the double doors, across the intersection and into the Seventh Street Café.

Near the end of the line, exhausted students were ordering coffee at Seventh Street to stay awake while waiting for the famous Cafsgving dinner.

By the time students crawled through the entrance to the caf and handed their ID cards to “assistant director of resident dining” Bryan Hafer, they could barely muster the strength to lift a dinner plate.

Students who had waited hours to get in were dismayed to find that the line continued once they were inside. Some became irritable. One student, a member of the cross country team, could contain his annoyance no longer and launched a forkful of mashed potatoes toward the front of the line, where it was received by the left shoulder of an offensive tackle on the football team.

This large man, already seething at his team’s awful record (1-8 — Oof), became enraged. His roar was heard from the senior apartments. He scooped gravy from his plate and smeared it into the hair of the student behind him, who in turn flung a buttered sweet potato across the room, where it splattered several female students.

The food fight was more contagious than Covid-19. Every student at Cafsgiving joined in the melee. With tensions high, decorum vanished. In mere minutes the walls and floors of the beautiful dining hall were plastered with Thanksgiving favorites.

Adrian, or as he’s known by most students: “Post Malone,” tried desperately to restore order. Standing on a round table, the omelet-maker shouted paeans to love, serenity and the true meaning of giving thanks. The students gave thanks for his enchantingly poetic speech with a rain of gravy and stuffing that soon caked his luxuriant beard.

When frantic messengers brought news of the brawl to President Bravman, he marched from his $7,000,000 McMansion past the line of students, some of whom had passed out from hunger, and bravely breached the caf doors.

Whatever grand plan he had of calming the crowd was obliterated when his face encountered a large slice of pumpkin pie thrown by a blonde Kappa girl. Whipped cream dripped down his $5,000 Armani suit, for once marring the timeless look that the president manages to pull off day after day.

Eventually, Public Safety showed up at the scene and several arrests were made. President Bravman was rescued from under a mountain of mashed potatoes and turkey breasts, apparently unscathed. By the time the sun had risen over Bucknell’s campus the next morning, normalcy had returned to the dining hall, and students could once again purchase microwaved food that had been in cold storage since 1824.