If you are an Amherst-area student over the age of 21, or an underage student who knows someone overseas with graphic design talent and a general disregard for penalties related to forgery, then you might be familiar with the local bar scene. And if you’re familiar with the local bar scene as it exists in the winter, then you may also be familiar with the sight of a spry young man in multiple layers of grey sweatshirts and a pair of joggers he desperately insists are “street-wear” running at a slightly menacing half-jog/half-sprint to get into line at Spoke about five minutes before all the normal people arrive.

Now, maybe his expedient approach to travel makes sense to you: The noble pursuit of drinking until you’re sick in the morning waits for no one, and what sensible person wouldn’t be in a hurry to stand in a crowded bar with no room to breathe? How else could you enjoy your friends spending 15 minutes fighting their way to the bathroom while you desperately look for your tall friend who functions as the group lighthouse and is frankly pretty smug about it?

But that’s not why our grey-clad hero is running through the streets of Amherst. No, he’s running because it’s absolutely freezing on the way to the bars, and he doesn’t handle that very well. Sub-30. Sub-20. Single digits. He’d rather stay in and play Scrabble, but that’s not what the lads have in mind and the ladies “just really want to dance tonight,” so he finds an outfit that’s warm enough to survive the walk but not too cumbersome for when he arrives at his destination.

That guy who runs to the bars? Weird for sure, but he’s only human. He’s a warm-blooded non-reptile like you and me, coping with a cruel and unforgiving winter the only way he knows how. We don’t agree with his methods, but the underlying biology is sound. However, do you know where biology falls short? Do you know who aren’t even warm-blooded human beings at all? Women. All women.

There are no human women. That’s my opinion, and since it’s my opinion you have to respect it and give it an equal platform for consideration along with all other opinions. That’s just the law.

The existence of “women who are also human beings” is a myth older than stories of Hercules’ incredible strength or the idea that the Patriots’ dynasty is ever coming to an end. You’d never see a woman sprinting at a sub-Olympic pace down North Pleasant Street just to go to a bar. Maybe to Antonio’s, but not a bar. When I go out in the winter, I put on three layers minimum, make my peace with God and head out the door. For women, it would seem that the trusty black tank top and jeans is a one-temperature-fits-all outfit. That’s a cold-blooded move, and I mean that literally.

So, if not human, what kind of species are women? Certainly not mammals. Lizards? It’s hard to say without evidence; I’d have to check some dental records to be sure, and they don’t let me have access to that kind of thing from my prison cell anymore. Also, while I’ve obviously never been close enough to a woman to see if their skin is reptile-esque, I’ve read the Twilight Saga cover to cover and it never described Bella’s skin that way, so that’s all the proof anyone should need.

A cultural analysis might bear more fruit than the biological approach: Clearly, regardless of where they should be classified on a phylogenic tree, women are a warrior species. I saw a documentary once about how Navy Seals are trained to endure cold weather by laying down in freezing water, and I’d have to imagine standing against February headwinds in the line to Stackers while wearing shorts is roughly the same thing. Also, if you’re a guy out at a bar, then at some point you’ll experience being nearly knocked to the ground by someone trying to push behind you, and you’ll turn around expecting to see Vince Wilfork only to find a 4’11’’ woman with fire in her eyes running you over with perfect balance in heels that would make you tear your ACL. Hercules was never real, but apparently 3.5 billion superwomen walk among us, and they all have his strength.

So maybe women are a demigoddess species sent from the heavens to make me feel weak and lame, or at least as weak and lame as you must see me after reading this article. More research is required, so if any women would like to talk with me about this issue, or about literally anything else, please reach out.

Warm-Blooded Non-Reptile is a very confused 22-year-old who can be found desperately hoping this article is funny enough to justify the uncomfortable premise that women literally aren’t human.