I shall be camping this weekend. I need a brother to walk my Shog... dog this weekend. His name is Gy'le C'ta, but as that is unspeakable in any human language, I call him Shep. While walking him, be careful to keep your distance from any other dogs or Elder Things. Shep does not care for them.

I thank you in advance,

Herbert West

Well, that's done it. Thanks awfully, Atwood, I don't suppose you'd like to help me haul Whateley down to the infirmary? I need not say that you will do his chores tonight.

Pabodie

Oh, come now, Whateley- how should we believe you sensible of anything, when you continue to faint like a consumptive Sigma Pi upon the mere sight of gelatin? Perhaps if you loosened your corset-stays an inch or two, we might be able to enjoy a molded pudding or aspic every so often without having to clean you off the floor.

Atwood

Good day! I have just found out about this communal journal. I am, of course, the most talked about bro' at Miskatonic, Herbert West. Most of my writings are in my lab notebooks, so I shall merely relate an anecdote.

At our House Party two weeks past, there came a moment in the evening when, having imbibed continuously for several hours, the group found itself without further supplies of ale, lager, or whisky. I could not allow the group to disband, as I was attempting to shew a young woman a good time. I recalled a bottle that I had found on one of my late night... perambulations, shall we say. The town drunk had been buried with a bottle of his favorite whisky, it appears. There was also a rack of thirty of his favorite beers, but I imagine they were skunk'd.

Either way, I summoned the nearest pledge and instructed him to retrieve that foul bottle. My eyes began to grow weary, though I fought the onset of sleep with all the determination which I could summon in my state. Alas, I must have drifted into slumber, for the next thing I remember is awaking in a pool of spilled stout. Enuresis may have occurred, I don't wish to speak of it, though.

I returned to my room, and found that the insolent pledge was still rooting in my steamer trunk. "Come now!" I said, "The whisky is no good to me now, and if you insist on taking the 'hair-of-the-dog' please use your own supplies!" I kicked him swiftly in the rear, sending his body sprawling. It was then that I saw that where his head should have rested, there was nought but a pulpy stump!

An incomplete body being useless to me, I tossed his corpse into the gorge.

Let no one think me besieged by envy when I recommend most heartily that all young ladies, or creatures possessing the semblance of young ladies, be forbidden the grounds of our beloved Delt House. I hope I am as sensible as any fraternity man of the charms of a jolly armful of co-ed, but the recent spate of what I can only call incidents with Hepzibah, Dorcas, Keziah, and Keren-happuch- God preserve us, Keren-happuch!- All right, Pabodie, I know I said I wouldn't speak of it-
The point is, it only troubles what one might call the atmosphere, and overexcites Brother West to boot. I implore you to think of the good of the brotherhood and pursue your amours elsewhere- I'm sure you gentlemen can think of a few secluded grottos, hey hey?

NB: Do not use the Potter's Field -JW

Pabodie here. Brother Whateley is in the infirmary and will have to be excused from house duties. Please remember to visit him; it should buck him up tremendously. Sick-calls should be conducted during daylight hours only (I'm speaking to you, West) and not at all if you feel you must talk about ichor, nefandous portents, or immortality. Atwood will do Whateley's chores. He knows why.

There was a most ungodly screeching from West's room last night. I had a prelim the next morning, so I asked him to kindly turn down the bass.