Wharton Wellness to Enforce Chinese Water Torture for Students Caught Not Taking Advantage of Professional Wellness Circles
(12/13/23 8:30pm)
I thought I could get away. I tried to unsubscribe — but they found me again.
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I thought I could get away. I tried to unsubscribe — but they found me again.
Time is not linear.
As students danced and sang along to Bad Habits [Meduza EDM Remix] last Saturday night, some took mimicking Sheeran’s accent too far. “Oi mate, I’m also from Manchester,” said Eric Trillo, a freshman actually from Cleveland. “I just love being an international student!” continued the Rust Belt student.
1. THIS IS FACETIOUS I PROMISE THIS IS IN JEST THIS IS FROLICSOME ALL IS WELL
It’s junior year and I haven’t passed the line yet. You may ask, “What is ‘the line'?” Great question, my compadre. This is a euphemism for my lamentable condition as a student on academic probation. I reached this sorry state or rather, I haven’t come out of this state, because I’ve never passed a class before. Now you understand, I’m basically an academic failure. “Resubmit,” “rethink,” “come in for office hours,” “do me a special favor” are all commonplace in my inbox and submission comments. I’ve started to call Canvas grade notifications UPENN QUARTER LIFE CRISIS ALERTS. I’m numb to being at the end of the whisker on the box-and-whisker plot. They’re all 10s to me. If the wealthy donors think Magill is a failure, they should meet me. I’ve been looking into alternative paths. Perhaps Oxford is my calling. I was just about ready to apply for an accelerated BA/PhD program when I received a most inspiring message from my RELS 0100: Descent into Hell professor.
It's been a long journey, and one I won't ever be able to forget.
Did you know that love is what makes time tangible?
There's not much to be said here. Huntsman kinda looks like the panopticon, at least to me --- and my opinion matters much more than anyone who was involved in designing that building.
My phone in my front right pant pocket buzzes once… then again… then one final time. I look down thinking it may be a phone call… no, it’s even worse.
The iPhone (SE 3rd generation) is a lever for jouissance. The body is a dispersion of a positive delusion. Having a text from him turns into not having text from him again, after you text back. Why is texting him so devastating? Why does he turn every one of your text into a thread on iMessage? Why is it that when you kiss him you can forget your name?
I’m so scared. What could be in it? What is substance? A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose. When does it stop being the rose, though? You can put a block of tofu on a plate, market it as vegan escargot and charge me $14.99. How far can we stretch this idea? What if on this plate, or rather brown cardboard packaging, was a single white rose, labeled vegan escargot. Would the price change? I fear not.
Did you think I was gonna say something funny? There’s nothing funny about Epilepsy Awareness Month. You probably thought I was gonna say something like I’m going to bike around campus with a huge tv attached to my bicycle displaying flashing lights. But I don’t want to get in trouble. And there’s nothing funny about epilepsy.
To whom it may concern, staff of Wilcaf, and otherwise:
"You only like me because you like the beginnings of things."
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Malaise: noun
The craziest party of the year is happening!! Get ready for ZBT The Moon!
Healthcare in America is broken. I bet you’ve never heard that one before as an able-bodied person with Anthem Blue Cross and Aetna (dental) insurance. But it is. You do not want to see HUP on a Saturday night after backlot or late night or Penn Dems BYO.
How to navigate one’s headspace? We ask this question because we seriously don’t know why this lady did what she did. If we were to describe this lady we would say: petite wasian queen. This matters because her mannerisms and tonality pertained to her identity and we love wasian people. What is the motif behind an elderly woman with a kind voice approaching us as we merge with the biopond? What is the motif of us telling her to go away? We attempted this endeavor to no avail because she took a picture across the pond that revealed our state of mind, intriguing because we never got her state of mind in turn; what becomes of us now that we know that she knows us better than we do her? In our time with her, she told us the last time she was at Penn was 1982. Wow! We said. And then silence.
Imagine this: you’ve just woken up after a rejuvenating, restful sleep and go on your phone to do your morning Instagram scroll (duh) and instead of the carefree morning activity you are expecting, you’re greeted by the most heinous, revolting, almost sickening photo of yourself on your feed. You can't fathom it. You must still be asleep —it's just a nightmare.