Though Curtain is done squandering her class time on texting Ben from ZBT, she still has not dipped her toes into scholarship on immigration and refugees. She is off to a solid start, though, and is taking baby steps toward her final goal.

“Spotify taught me the meaning of pain, both physically and financially,” Lucero sighed, his wallet lighter than the AirPods in his ears. “I’m gonna be eating Locust Walk shrubs for days.”

I want to issue a formal apology to anyone came at the same time as a crescendo of farts escaped my rectum.

While he doesn’t plan on using them to hurt anyone, he does plan on practicing with them every 12 to 3 o’clock on College Green.

Why do you want to waste your money on a tank top with a Penn club pun that has a slightly inappropriate twist to it?

This past Sunday, researches in Penn’s department of sociology announced that Castle’s Magic Gardens event would not be coming back, and, no, it wasn’t canceled. In a press conference to the University, Dr. Tanvi Kapoor revealed that her team in Penn’s sociology department was behind this round of tickets, not the fraternity.

Sure, we all know you're not supposed to compare yourself to others at such a competitive school, but what’s the fun in that? Here is a side by side comparison of you and the service dog from lecture.

It really is a dying art.

I should’ve gone to Cornell, learned about hotels, and gotten a sweet job at the Four Seasons or some shit.

Shut up, Rafael. Everyone knows you did perfectly fine on the exam.

He’s previously competed in a desk building competition, so Hader has had to pick brackets before. Last year, he put all his money on the Everbuilt Zinc Plated 1 ½” Bracket, but that one lost it all during the strength test. 

Topics of your zines can include, and are limited to, ethical non-monogamy in Papua New Guinea, the intersectional bisexuality of John Quincy Adams, and the best places to masturbate on campus.

Spruce Street is her refuge, the path for those on this campus who crave a shred of anonymity. Protecting her from the sight of others, her Penn cap says it all: “yes, I’m a low-key bitch. And, you’re also right — I do go to Penn.”

His public announcement on Locust — difficult to hear over four adjacent a cappella groups blasting music and selling tickets — was received with moderate enthusiasm by his friends. “We’ve got to fix what’s going on,” he said candidly. “Why is it so hard to get Magic Gardens tickets? I think there’s some conspiracy.”

Braden got a B in his geology class sophomore year, so yea, I’m pretty sure he knows his stuff. 

Equipped with seven different highlighters, a multi-pen, two erasers, and a fleeting hope for success, she scribbled vigorously, but her professor had no mercy.

Some students at Penn like Copa, and some like Distrito. In the end, we all go to Smokes. What can we say? There is always a universal thread. We live in a society. 

Look: I’m a bad bitch. An extremely bad bitch. When I walk down the street I turn heads. People I walk past whisper to each other, “That is the baddest bitch I have ever seen,” just before they collapse onto the street, overwhelmed by my power.

Since I started riding my futuristic platform of gliding excellence, I haven't even come close to self-identifying as a failure. I self-identify as one of Nikola Tesla’s chosen few. 

It’s only the beginning of April, and Britain has already used all of their extensions for the semester. The next time they fail to meet a deadline, their grade will go down by a full letter grade per late day.