GBF Population Nosedives After Self-Actualized Girlypop Goes Abroad

Disaster. Destruction. Half-off at Philly AIDS Thrift. A campus drenched in dereliction. The culprit? Self-actualized twenty-year-olds pursuing their dreams. 

UTB staff contacted representatives of the LGBT Center for comment, but the servers have been down since the beginning of the semester. It seems there’s a strong, negative correlation between the number of self-actualized Penn girlypops studying public policy in Madrid and the number of GBFs running amok on Locust Walk. 

Statisticians at Under The Button HQ were able to piece together a regression model, providing more in-depth analysis. With a correlative coefficient of -2.00, we estimate that for each socially liberal junior (PPE major, Consumer Psychology minor, Choice and Behavior concentration) that goes abroad in the fall semester, the number of gay men on campus falls twofold. Though the study is limited to the traditional constraints of observational inquiry, the UTB staff speculates a few likely causal factors:

1. Lack of Purpose to Sudden Death Pipeline: With no one to use as a shield to feign calls for genuine vulnerability, homosexual men run a higher risk of spontaneous combustion, leading to death in most cases. 
2. The Hermit Kingdom: With no one to occupy the dingy corners of Gayborhood bars, gay men, like gerbils, start to go stir-crazy, enveloping themselves in a bed of loneliness, layers of dead skin leading to suffocation. Cannibalism has been documented in a handful of cases. 
3. Madonna Stuns in New Selfie!

There is no body to batter when your mind is your might. The words bleed through Huntsman’s walls as a lonesome homosexual struggles to write a dynamic financial model for a multifamily high-rise slated for development near Rittenhouse (seven year hold period). He misses the self-actualized girlypops. Everything is dry and crepuscular. They’re all in Spain, frolicking in Salamanca, slicking their hair back and sinking their molars into the world with all its vastness. They used to go to spin classes together. 

Her: “I’m training for a half-marathon!” 

Him: “Can you believe the spin instructor knows Caroline Polachek?”

In the tomb of the deathless god. Divas in Xi’An, studying the things that really matter. The three high-rises on Locust pale in comparison to entire megacities where big apartments and office buildings are individually quite ugly, but come together to form a place that’s undeniably beautiful in its unabashed tackiness. It’s all one big club, and you’re not in it. That wasn’t a Lorde reference. 

Every beautiful autumn day they’re not together feels like dying; frittering away too many days, letting the night come down too many times. And then you will both have lilted for four months, and that’s it: that was your semester, that was what you did.