If you’ve ever been in one of the high rises, you know there’s no service on the elevators. In addition to there being no service on this particular elevator, there are also no other people. Sources say it’s just me and this bitch.
My dad emailed your dad that I was coming here, and he said I should text you.
His penchant for covering his face with ray-bands that went out of style twenty years ago should’ve been a sign.
Maybe I'll name my hedge fund Liger Global. Those names are different enough.
There is only one date I cling to: the beginning of the next school year, when this meaningless cycle begins all over again, and I order more pens off of Amazon.
Upon returning to campus, I visited my old friend to dust off its smooth, vandalized sides and to caress it.
It would be a house just for me and my closest friends. We could hang out every day! It would be so much fun. I don’t say this enough, but I love my friends a lot.
Basically, I was born to account. For things. And that’s why I transferred to Wharton.
We know it can be tricky to hide your pride, but that’s just what our leftist campus pseudo-culture does to us.
I tried to read my email, even BuzzFeed, but found myself lost in a sea of text.
During NSO, University affiliates will ask you to “keep that mf thaaang on you.” I, however, will only ask you to either keep that mf thang clean, or keep it away from me.
Despite all of us gaining admission to the same university, it’s become apparent that some have strayed from the tenant that got us here in the first place: being well dressed at every occasion. So I implore you, reader: please look presentable, or flee from my sight.
I think God gave us toes not because we need them, but because they’re nice to look at.
People have been clamoring for pictures of my feet for decades. Ever since 1998, my feet have been my best quality, hands down.
There are so many things that make being in a sorority amazing: mixers with fraternities across campus, philanthropy events, my new raging case of herpes, and the next three years which I am blessed to spend as an older role model to my future sisters!
After four semesters of flailing around like a fish out of water through intro level Spanish classes, I have finally diagnosed the root cause of my struggles: I don’t speak Spanish, I speak English.
I am MicKinsey's, and McKinsey's mine.
I am a firm believer that millennials can change the world we already have. And by that I of course mean that they can, by 2030, physically consume all of the plastic ever created.
I just want to know how long I have to keep exploring my options, even though yeah, I know I interned here last summer too.
If you just embraced your beautiful, unpronounceable last name by allowing everyone in the United States to mock it, I think your edge would be that much sharper.