T.S. Eliot once wrote “April is the coolest month.” But to me it seems more like the cruelest month. Work is piling up; the year is winding down. Not to mention all those damn lilacs, mixing memory and desire.

But April it is, and in just a few days we’ll be crushed to death by about 1,500 prospective freshmen who will fall from the sky and eat all our free food. These children will ask questions about “extracurriculars” and “academics” and, for some of the more precocious among them, “sextracurriculars.” A warning to all students: these young barnacles are not to be trusted. After all, they got into Yale, and the only way to do that is by being a soulless, manipulative opportunist without a shred of self-esteem, willing to say or do anything in order to win an overhyped and largely meaningless stamp of approval from a random person hired to pass judgment upon them.

Also, on the off-chance that this newspaper is still floating around come Monday: hello class of 2016! We’re excited to get to know you. Please stop reading now, and go to the fondue party with that dude from France (!).

Shame on you, undergrads, for letting this paper fall into their hands. You should know better. Now think back — it’s hard to believe, but you were at Bulldog Days once. You were, at one time, a clean-shaven, slightly thinner young person brimming with insufferable excitement, floating from information session to meet-and-greet in a daze, infuriating everyone around you. You were told certain things, things that convinced you to commit a few hundred thousand dollars and four years of your precious life to this institution. Those things you now know to be lies. Please do the prefrosh a service; tell the truth.

Lie 1: Residential colleges are great. OK, everyone knows residential colleges aren’t great. They’re stupendous. They’re exceptional. They’re marvelous. Not only will all your friends automatically be sorted into your college with you, thanks to the computer Yale has that can tell the future, but you will be fed delicious, fresh, healthy meals every day (in bed, if you prefer). Also each college has a working spaceship, which you can sign out for hour-long shifts. As if that weren’t enough, each Sunday night is Family Night, during which you will dine with a long-lost family member you didn’t know you had and will be delighted to meet (thanks, omniscient computer!).

Lie 2: Everyone loves shopping period. A reckless lie that will no doubt deceive the prefrosh. You can’t love shopping period — because you’ll be unconscious for it. What they don’t tell you is that for two weeks at the start of each semester, you’ll be submerged in a vat of goo and a computer (its name is Roger, if you were curious) will interpret your bodily energies and select a courseload that’s just right. You won’t have class on Fridays or before 11:30; your distributional requirements will be satisfied; you won’t have to take too many credits; and you won’t have section ever! And Roger does your work for you, so don’t worry about falling behind.

Lie 3: Master’s Teas. Again, deception. Instead of tea, you’re given a pill which will download all the insights and hilarious anecdotes of each celebrity guest directly to your brain. So, even though you’ll absolutely never be able to find the time to go to a Master’s Tea, you don’t have to despair. Just get the pill version! If you do manage to find enough time to go to the Tea in person, the guest is by law required to become your best friend.

Lie 4: Yale will offer you an exceptional education. Counterintuitively, this is not a lie. (One caveat: Roger the omniscient computer teaches all the classes. He may lack the capacity to love, but man, he can tell you a thing or two about lit theory!)

Don’t let the masses of prefrosh be taken in by the lies. The truth will out, and you will out it.