Disclaimer: This story is a part of out April Fool’s edition, The Goofordian. This story was created by Guilfordian Staff and is not based in fact.

The Ultimate Frisbee team is a club on campus that remains quite active in their respective sport. You may have heard of their stylishly alternative name, “BioHazard.” You may have also been to their home tournaments on campus, where they host a variety of fellow Ultimate Frisbee teams for a collective venue of good times and competition. In fact, one of these home tournaments will take place again the weekend following Serendipity. However, it is in light of this impending event that we must bring to light what may perhaps be the greatest blotch on a Guilford sport team’s record.

On Wednesday, March 20, during the Ultimate Frisbee team’s practice, resident, student and friend of the team Noah Lindberg brought his son to watch them “throw the disc,” as they say. It was a fine enough day. People laughed, people cheered and good times were had while throwing the frisbee around. But in the absolute madness that is “throwing the disc,” Mr. Lindberg’s child was lost. Little Garfield Vladimir Lindberg was ensconced with the disc. He chased it like a more normal child would chase a butterfly. Every time it landed in the hands of one of the players, he would even try to lick it, believing that because of its orange hue it must taste like orange sherbet. Mr. Lindberg searched high and low for his beloved kin, but to absolutely no avail, because not one of the players would stop throwing the disc for even a moment to answer him.

When asked about his take on the situation, Mr. Lindberg told us that he asked every player, “Where is my son, have you seen my son?” But not one frisbee player would look away from the disc to help or even acknowledge his presence. When asked why they wouldn’t answer him, Frisbee Captain Alec McMahon replied, “Noah has a son?”

“Those damn frisbee punks are too obsessed with their orange discs, they just can’t seem to think about anything than the rush of a saucer soaring through the air,” Mr. Lindberg managed through choked tears. “My poor baby Garfield is lost!”

There is a real problem at the core of this story. Yes, little Garfield Vladimir Lindberg is still lost, but more importantly, this obsession with flying orange discs is an absolute epidemic. What is the root of this obsession with flying orange discs? Do they all think it tastes like orange sherbet? You would think they would have licked it by now and known that it does not, and yet this problem continues plaguing our campus. As you walk by the field behind the gym and by the lake, be careful as to not be beamed in the head with an orange saucer, take care to not lose yourself in “the rush” of a flying disc. If you have a friend who’s thinking about joining the Ultimate Frisbee team, think about an intervention. Tell their advisor anddon’t just remain a bystander or we will never beat this. Oh, and keep an eye out for Garfield.