Sources close to the Penn student body report that every single Penn student is now convinced that they only got rejected from Stanford because their spot was taken by someone whose parents bribed the school. Under the Button caught up with Engineering junior Jasper Ortega (E’ 20) for his take.

Don't worry about plagiarism or anything; you have my permission to just fling these into your work willy-nilly.

The pressure from employed seniors doesn’t help. It’s reported that a gang of seniors — all of them headed to Goldman Sachs as analysts — raided the Saxby’s on 40th, throwing hot coffee at people, and uttering, “Employed yet, idiot?”

Philly is a city in need of a protector. And for the small, heavily guarded and heavily gentrified bubble that is Penn, Scoot Squad is up for the challenge.

With a blood alcohol content of 0.00%, Joseph stepped through the doors of the Mask and Wig Clubhouse.

He subsequently tilted the handle over the side of her thigh and let the vodka dribble down and seep into the now disinfected wounds. 

“We were looking at HamCo for a long time because of all its amenities, but it was too expensive."

Instead of unwinding with an episode of The Office or with a few bottles of wine, some Penn students are now turning to recreational reading as a means of de-stressing.

Esteemed chemistry professor Kenneth Bullion glossed over an entire section of notes, leaving already confused students utterly in the dark.

It is hypothesized that if everyone were named Steinberg-Dietrich, the class system would collapse, as no one would be able to tell who the real Steiny-D is.

“Wouldn’t this toilet paper just look so good in my bathroom instead?”

But uh, hey, remember when we went to AC for Feb club?

Administration members are so excited to have stumbled upon this hidden gem of the digital age. Some were generous enough to share some of their thoughts.

It conveys that we're talking about the wee hours and imparts a hot, beefy aftertaste.

My creator has surely abandoned me in this time of need, left me to float in the warm, sweat-scented air of this metal container, hurtling upwards towards what I hope will be my eventual demise.

Though details are still being finalized, likely events include a furries happy hour and a night at a BDSM club in Atlantic City.

Not just my mom, though. I’d also like to be able to tell my friends and, perhaps most importantly, my many, many enemies. One day, I’m going to change my occupation on Facebook, and it’s probably going to get bare minimum 1000 likes.

Despite the spine-breaking, sexless, and financially crippling nature of their existence, some students claimed to be, “Just fine,” “Grateful to be here,” and, even, “The best they’ve ever been.” 

After his 503rd time running out the door to make his 9 a.m. recitation without having time to scarf down a quick yogurt, an idea came to him. What if there were a more portable yogurt?

“We don’t really know where to go, but I love German art. We’re big museum guys. This is great,” he lied. The group plans to tour the Berlin nightlife, but has only a faint understanding of the club scene.