Aww: Local Incel Elated to See Tinder Match Who Ghosted Them All Cozy and Well-Hydrated at UBB
Well, hello there.
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Well, hello there.
“Damn, he does have that drip though,” I thought to myself as I walked past him on Locust. This guy... kinda sucks. For one, he is always talking to his friends during our lecture and it makes it hard for me to hear what our professor is saying. Not only that, but he has friends in our lecture! What a tool. I think he is in one of the cool fraternities, and to be honest he is probably more goated than I am. Furthermore, I heard him talking to his endless friends about his PS5. I want a PS5!
Following in the footsteps of legendary female business pioneers (don’t ask me to name one), Danielle Bregoli is slated to step foot on Penn’s campus as the leader of Venture Lab, Penn’s newest emetophilic attempt at selling wayward college students on a dream.
Tensions ran high among the Wharton student population last Thursday after three MBA students reported hearing a mysterious buzzing noise after the conclusion of the Wharton Undergraduate Edge Fund’s first meeting of the year in JMHH 366. Upon investigation, it was revealed that one of the Fund’s board members left a Hitachi Magic Wand plugged into a wall outlet.
Students were shocked last Saturday morning when they realized that the hand sanitizer dispensed in the Commons dinning hall had a slippery, sticky consistency.
A step above acquiring gay rights is gaining the ability to date outside of your assigned school. There’s just so little to talk about, ya know? If I, a political sciences major, start spewing things such as “Mearsheimer’s defensive vs offensive realism”, and he –a Wharton indictee– does not understand, am I simply to walk out of the beautiful date we are having at Houston hall?
Sure, you may have read this title and entered a state of reminiscence. Perhaps you even heard a melody or a voice in your head. Yeah ok this piece of writing is inspired by a Mitski song, so what? Is a leaf that grows from fresh bark not equally beautiful? If that same leaf were to fall on locust walk, does its beauty ever truly die out?
This Tuesday, I’m not voting on abortion, you stupid liberal, I’m voting for who’s going to make Pennsylvania feel like home. A real home. One with all the dainty little frills of suburban consumerism, and pithy rich blue-leaning men who smell and look like truckies.
Yikes. Your mom just sent you a text:
Commons breakfast, so liberating.
What a rollercoaster of a day. What began as elation has ended in true sorrow and despair. Most people woke up today feeling refreshed, the extra hour of sleep leaving a sparkle in their eyes. Birds chirped and sunbeams glistened. Harmony and peace reverberated in the air. All was well.
And I thought my writing was unoriginal and derivative. You guys genuinely need to come up with better –or at least new– titles?
I love to participate in healthy habits. Whether it’s sleeping for a full 24 hours to attain beautifully clear skin and a happy heart, or going on a diet of only truly delicious food, I’m all for keeping my body at its all-time physical (and emotional if I have time because that’s not as important) peak. That’s why I am studying really hard this semester. No, I’m not wasting my time on the traditional classes offered at Penn. That would be absurd. Instead, I’m focusing on the art of dance workouts, specifically those of my roommate BeBanna Hochwoman (C ‘25).
The other day when I found myself fighting battles in the 1920 commons bathroom, Penn Period Project’s container of free tampons was a welcome beacon of hope on that slick, off-white countertop of a horizon. But my heart sank when I read that fateful word on the tampon’s packaging: regular. Erm… as if there’s a “regular” type of period to have. Do I only deserve proper menstrual care if the heaviness of my womanly flow fits society’s rigid concept of normality (which, I assure you, it does not)? But I digress. I had just regained my composure when I glimpsed the sign reading, “Got your period? We’ve got you!” as if to mock me and my untamable, tsunamic crimson tide. Needless to say, I left in tears.
I like to incorporate culture in my life however possible. I have Black friends, I regularly eat at Bento, my favorite sauce is Sriracha, I took Spanish in high school, I traveled to Israel this past summer, and most importantly, my girlfriend Xiao Ming is Chinese. Xiao Ming has taught me a lot about Chinese culture. We enjoy fortune cookies, orange chicken, General Tso’s chicken, China Daily, and Kung Fu Panda together. I now know how to say, “Hi, my name is Michael” in Chinese. By the way the way you say this is, “你好，我叫笨蛋” Whenever I say this at parties, I get an array of laughs, I’m such a crowd pleaser. I even got it tattooed on my arm! Xiao Ming is so great, not only because she is Chinese, but also because we get to experience culture together. She calls me gringo and I call her Mi Amor. We decorated our 2-bedroom with a mandala and sphinx statues, and our cat’s name is Pepe.
It started with an innocent conversation. We were chatting about old-timey paintings. You know, how people just looked like they were from the 1600s back then.
After subsisting off Grommen's caprese sandwiches and six hours of sleep for the past eight weeks, my body is reduced to primordial soup. I am just a sack full of organic compounds sloshing around. Not even a mitochondria in sight.
We’ve all been there. You’re talking to the kid whose net worth rivals a member of the Bahraini royal family (in certain cases, they may be a member of said family — we’ll cover that next). Yet you were raised in a poor, scanty 2,500 square foot suburban home in California.
The number one thing people associate you with is your face. But you yourself don’t necessarily identify with your face.
Why do we need a holiday to celebrate fear when, all year round, we are already constantly living in fear?