Det. Kreuger would like to note suspect was really chill and cool and fun.

Nothing screams Delta Delta Delta like a W88 for UGM-133 Trident II SLBM warhead! 

The water there is just so clear. Almost, like a bottle of Voss, but not quite.

You begin to feel how one usually feels after a few drinks: socially and morally conscious about your racial identity. 

Even Obama is gagging, diva. 

We cry out and Penn Dining responds: "We hear you!"

Why are they sharing the lingering flavors of last night’s Commons meal on the bench right outside my window?

Are you an absolute loser who’s still lugging it through the final parts of rushing & aren’t sure if you’ll make it? Don’t worry! We got you covered.

Even if we understand what someone is saying, that doesn’t actually mean that we understand it. 

For one reason or another, you find yourself at the bottom of Penn’s social hierarchy. That’s ok. Maybe you’re ugly or from a weird state. Nothing you can really change. 

Send out that When to Meet, sync your GCals, and enjoy your new best friend! 

They’re all in Spain, frolicking in Salamanca. 

Oh Herr Engels, Herr Marx, Chairman, Uncle Ho. I thank thee for my great fortuna. Margaret from Ohio does indeed support labor. 

I am now one Telfar and/or Marc Jacobs away from fully comprehending Penn-womanhood.

Each time I see the oh so not recognizable Amalfi Coast, a discreet half image of Big Ben, or the completely unfamiliar Sydney Opera House, my mind fills with textbook figures of gouty white men in uniforms stepping out of armed ships and [ACTION REQUIRED] emails. 

Sinning runs rampant; intoxication, fornication, and spiritual deprivation all accompany “Meeting the Bros” or “dirty rushing.” However, there is a way to do away with this filth and rush properly – rush how Jesus would. 

A decisive blow that’s sure to usher in new social interactions and a newfound appreciation for small, working-class communities: Penn Admissions has accepted a scrappy young fellow into the Class of 2027.

They literally don’t belong here.

Unbeknownst to me, that little bitch (read: fantastically successful and impressive athlete) just doesn't give a fuck about the beautiful things I have to say to her.

Despite never taking a dance class in my life, the representatives regard my pudgy legs and deem them “perfect for our types of choreography.”