Surley Jacks Son

By Surley Jacks Son • Vol 5, Issue 6 • March 27, 2026

No one noticed the first bottle.

It appeared on Jenna’s desk in studio sometime between 2:14 AM, when she first sat down, and 5:37, when she finally looked away from her Rhino model to rest her eyes for a minute. A slightly crinkled 20 oz Dasani bottle, half full, faintly warm, light yellow, she assumed it was hers, though she didn’t remember drinking anything much: just three Rockstars, the same as every morning.

By the time the sunrise brilliantly illuminated the CFA roof, setting flames dancing across the aluminum roof and ornate railing, there were three. They showed …

By Surley Jacks Son • Vol 5, Issue 3 • Feb. 10, 2026

The construction of their union was, by all accounts, scandalous. Gates rose first, all brutal confidence and exposed systems. Hillman was slightly sleeker, more speculative, but still almost the mirror image of Gates.

The brutal, pragmatic thrust of Gates penetrated the very shell of the more delicate Hillman, and the campus pretended not to notice. Administrators spoke in soothing euphemisms: integration, interdisciplinary collaboration, shared vision. Students, dirty and horny, knew the truth.

Similarly, contractors reported noises that did not seem structurally sound. Grinding zinc, groaning masonry, clenched rebar. Forms strained and steel sang. It was loud, it was …

By Surley Jacks Son • Vol 5, Issue 2 • Jan. 27, 2026

No living creature can exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even lanternflies and cockroaches are supposed, by some, to dream. Gates Hillman, not sane, stood against the canyon, holding insanity within its glass-and-zinc ribcage; it had stood so for twenty years and might stand for twenty more, assuming FMS could keep the HVAC operating.

Dr. Montague had set up camp for the duration of finals week, intending to study the effects of prolonged wakefulness on undergraduate students “in the wild,” a phrase he used with a straight face, as if anything at Carnegie Mellon could plausibly be described …

By Surley Jacks Son • Vol 4, Issue 5 • Oct. 31, 2025

The morning of October 27th was cloudy and overcast, with the cold of a mid-autumn day; the leaves of the trees showed hints of orange, and the dutifully maintained grass was richly green. The students of Carnegie Mellon began to gather on the Cut around ten o’clock; the whole lottery took only about two hours, so it could begin at nine o’clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the students to get to Revolution Noodles prior to the crowds that would inevitably gather for lunch.

The first-years assembled first, naturally. Most of the students …