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August 27th, 2022. NSO. Me and the loose collection of gentlemen I found in a Quad lounge enter Commons for the first time. The food smells delicious. We feel a profound thankfulness for the privilege of dining here for the next nine months. Taking our seats, we discuss our ratio for the evening. Is it better to go to a party with thirteen guys and zero girls or thirteen guys and one girl? At least you can pass off the first option as a guys’ night, right? The second is just an admission of complete and utter failure.
March 18th, 2023 began like any normal St Patty’s Day. Breathalyzers read 0.5 when exposed to the open air. Darties were beginning and getting shut down in the same exact millisecond. Eagles jerseys emerged from their drawers for the first time since Patrick Mabitchmotherfucker cheated the Birds out of the Superbowl. Life was as it should be.
Step into your imagination. Take a journey with me. You’re eating your chicken-and-rice bowl outside of McClelland. It’s delicious. The exotic blend of sauces are reminiscent of the majesty of the Silk Road, so much so that your mind is transported there. You see spice traders filtering in and out of the bazaar. Wait, there’s Marco Polo! Oh, and there’s a horde of Mongols under the command of the ferocious Ghengis Khan!
Well, here we are. Coffee chatting. We’re chatting, we’re drinking coffee. We’re coffee chatting. The activity where we chat while we drink coffee. Hey, what’s your major again? Finance, wow. That’s a very nice major for us to discuss during our coffee chat (in which we chat and drink coffee simultaneously).
Greetings, fellow students. Or as I’ll soon be calling you, fellow COMRADES. “Comrades? Why is he calling us comrades? Isn’t that a Communist title reserved for citizens of the People's Republic of China from 1949-1978? He must be exaggerating.” No, I’m not exaggerating. Not in the slightest. Right before our very eyes, Xi JiMagill is giving Penn red an entirely new meaning.