Cursed Candy Makes Students Just a Tad Unhinged
Students have recently been way too energetic, but why?
Reading Time: 5 minutes
There has recently been an outbreak of cursed candy at Stuyvesant High School, causing students to go crazy. Thanks to these sinister sweets, students are wreaking havoc in classrooms and crawling like animals down the hallways. A group of students has hacked into the fourth-floor supply closet and is pretending to fly on brooms. There are now more flaming toilets in Stuyvesant than in any other high school (you’re welcome, Brooklyn Tech). Some teachers have decided to join in and get their hands on this cursed candy. Teachers opposed to the mass hysteria are tackled to the ground and dogpiled by students. Those who have not yet been tackled are desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong with the kids.
When asked by faculty why they were acting like over-caffeinated freshmen, the students refused to say a word, preferring instead to enter several math classrooms and destroy the innocent pieces of chalk inside. But what could have caused these otherwise overachieving students to behave so irrationally?
To find out, the faculty members who weren’t already captured by the crazed teens distracted the students with pictures of an unreleased Genshin Impact character. Once the students became sufficiently unaware of their surroundings, the faculty struck—I mean, patted down—their bodies for clues. Inside one of the students’ pockets was a seemingly innocuous candy corn. But after several tests led by the AP Chemistry teachers, the candy was determined to contain (by mass): eight percent BooGram confession letters, 1,000 percent sugar, 70,000 percent physics textbooks, and one million percent Valorant Night MarketTM weapons. The faculty then hired a team of police dogs to track down the source of the candy: the 11th floor swimming pool (now fully saturated with candy corns in unnaturally bright colors).
“We can’t let our students keep eating this obviously unhealthy candy!” a health teacher complained when interviewed about the situation. “Students have to remember the five food groups! Virtual weapons and cellulose are not part of a healthy diet… I can’t believe my own students learned nothing from my class!” she cried. Unfortunately, we couldn’t give her paper to wipe her tears with, as all of it had gone into the physics textbooks that were infused into the candy.
A physics teacher voiced similar concerns, stating, “This new candy and its effects are seriously concerning. My students have never been so awake in my class before, which is great because now the class average will exceed 45 percent. But with so much zeal, I’m worried they’ll have enough potential energy to launch into orbit at an initial velocity of 24,000 meters per second at an angle of 45 degrees above the horizontal!” Upon hearing that, one of our security guards fainted, seemingly from the past trauma of taking AP Physics C. We politely excused the physics teacher from the interview room before he could cause any more emotional damage.
Due to these complaints, the Stuyvesant administration decided to dispose of the candy in the Hudson River. They armed themselves with buckets and started scooping away, forming a bucket brigade from the 11th floor to the river and watching with satisfaction as the candy dissolved upon contact with the bubbling green toxicity of the Hudson. Unfortunately, they soon realized that the pool instantly refilled itself with each scoop, so they needed to find the source of the candy to get at the root of the issue. They walked around the pool’s perimeter and saw a lever just below the ledge. Pulling it opened a musty, crusty, dusty, gusty (but still somewhat trusty) secret passageway to the negative sixth floor (below the basement), where there were hundreds of machines and Oompa Loompas working to produce the candy corns with frightening speed. It turns out that Willy Wonka had set up a factory and was filling up the pool with these candies to celebrate his favorite childhood holiday: Halloween. Administrators quickly called the police to kick him out, but not before getting a few signatures (like c’mon, it’s the one and only Willy Wonka). But just before the police arrived, he vanished, along with all the Oompa Loompas and their candy-making machines. The police fined the school for faking an emergency and left. With the source of the sweet overload gone, the faculty began to once again scoop up the remnants.
But students weren’t about to let the remaining candy disappear without a fight; those under the candy’s powerful influence vigorously defended it against the admin. One student claimed, “It’s the best thing that ever happened in my life! Well, except for when I got a BooGram confession last year. Hmm, I wonder what happened to it. I never did find out who wrote it anyway…”
Another student said, “This candy is the only thing keeping me alive. Before this, I was falling asleep in nine out of 10 periods, and I only have eight scheduled classes! I’ve never felt so alive!” The student then proceeded to skip down the hallway, banging into the wall at least eight times before face-planting into the door of the East Staircase. A third student claimed that the candy gave him “magical powers,” stating: “When I eat this candy, I gain time travel powers! You see, the last time I ate it, I woke up three hours later in the nurse’s office with a block of ice on my head and a permission slip for a trip to the substance addiction center. Amazing, right?”
Several students were subsequently found camping out by the 11th-floor pool—literally. They brought inflatable tents, Nintendo Switch charging ports, and canned Algebra 2 study guides so they could still enjoy themselves while guarding the remaining candy. Recent reports have even claimed that the gym radio was smuggled up to the pool for some entertaining tunes to set the mood (aka the FitnessGram PACER test). Faculty tried to push through, but each time, they were pelted by barrages of failed tests and broken pieces of chalk until they were forced to retreat.
As of now, the faculty has been unable to remove the candy, even after summoning the legendary Principal Yu to combat the angry mob. The student encampments are still holding the 11th-floor chokepoint, but the faculty members are becoming stronger with each attempt to break through. By most estimates, the chaos will not settle until the supply runs out. Who will come out on top? Will Stuyvesant remain as the #4 NYC high school after word of this disaster reaches the DOE? The dedicated reporters at the Humor Department will update you as the situation continues to unfold.