The Bed and Breakfast (B&B) residence on Strohecker Farm Lane is Bucknell’s cooking-themed affinity house. Its name promises comfortable living and home-cooked meals, but don’t let the name fool you for one second. Living in the pretentious B&B house is like being a subject in one of Jigsaw’s experiments, where victims experience constant sleep deprivation and hunger due to extreme room temperatures and a perpetually dirty kitchen. 

The room temperatures in B&B are set to create the most uncomfortable sleeping conditions for its inhabitants, which means some rooms are as cold as the ice in my veins, while others are as hot as the depths of hell. Personally, as a B&B resident, I suffer from the latter, which has driven me into crippling credit card debt as I purchase more and more fans to keep cool at night. Those who endure the former have it no better, as their fingers and toes gradually fall victim to frostbite. Regardless of whether their rooms are hot or cold, the residents of B&B are severely sleep-deprived. 

On top of getting no sleep, B&B residents can’t even utilize their state-of-the-art kitchen, as it mysteriously remains in shambles. No matter how often it gets cleaned, it reverts back to its horrific state. Since none of the residents claim to have ever left a mess in the kitchen, I have deduced that a restless leprechaun must work around the clock to keep our kitchen looking like Oppenheimer’s nuclear bomb testing site. Maybe it’s because I haven’t slept for six weeks, but I can’t think of any other explanation. 

In desperation, I scattered bear traps across the kitchen floor to catch this demon. After Doughboy Johnson ’24, a B&B resident, fell prey to my trap, I immediately started interrogating him, questioning his purpose for entering the kitchen, threatening to kill his family if he didn’t talk. He claimed that before the bear trap severed his foot, he was there to retrieve his lactose-free milk, which he had been storing in the kitchen since the beginning of the semester. His story checked out. Moreover, his fingers had all fallen off from frostbite, so he was probably not the perpetrator. 

Everyone in the house now thinks I’m an insane lunatic, but to them I say, at least I’m trying! Also, Doughboy’s foot would have probably succumbed to frostbite anyway, so everyone should just chill.