From behind trembling lips, you cough up the words “one oat milk chai, please.”
So Brendan is obviously number one, I mean no question. He looks like Timothée Chalamet mixed with every soccer player ever.
I am never the type to just blindly follow the rules because someone passing by on the street or my entire close circle of family and friends tells me to.
What is the school hiding from us? Maybe there’s a community of gremlins down there. Maybe it’s some cool old bones. I think the most likely option is probably that it's Steve Buscemi's hidey-hole.
I had no idea I was classically conditioning myself to associate sex with Ira, but now I absolutely cannot cum without his voluptuous voice tapping on my eardrums.
Forget the dew-drinking keyboard denizen at Amazon HQ. It doesn't matter to me if you’re part of a worldwide data-mining operation orchestrated by Jeff Bezos himself. What matters is that you’re mine, sweetheart.
The similarities between these TikTok ads and street harassment always make me reach for my keys… and, as a freshman, I don’t even own keys anymore. How am I supposed to feel safe holding a Penncard between my knuckles?
Am I going to start putting in more work than ever now that my professional future is rapidly approaching? You bet your sweet ass I won’t. What am I doing instead? Take this quiz to find out!
Do I think I’m better than anyone in particular? No, my god, I’m not conceitfed. Do I think I’m just a bit better than the generalized “everybody”? A little.
I know I'm short. I know you think I'm short. I can see how much you want to express it. By all means, go ahead.
People have different conceptions of food and how it is prepared, served, and eaten. So when you call the pale, bland concoctions behind the sneeze guard at Commons "food," it can be insulting to those of us who grew up eating things like bread, meat, fruits, and vegetables that are actually seasoned and have flavors.
Consider, deeply, the fact that you are not choosing rushes to discard, but, rather, rushes to keep.
I get up early. Real mother-effing early. Like so early, you’d think I’m a student-athlete.
That fifth floor bathroom is just calling your name. You swallow your pride, head up the stairs, see the beautiful, little green tab – vacant.
Aw, it's adorable that we have a third person sharing our living space. I love waking up and not being able to use the bathroom because you guys are having shower sex.
For both, no one knows how it got this bad and there isn’t really much that can be done to fix it now.
“It’s okay, though, don’t worry about me,” I said to address their grimaces. “My husband is going to be rich. Like really rich. Probably richer than everyone in that lecture hall, actually.”
If you're going to violently curse your professor's dead relatives and weep into your hands, you're gonna have to take it down juuuuust a few decibels.
I consider myself an herbalist. No, not in the I-smoke-pot-everyday way, but more in my tendency to consume a small cup of single-origin green tea every day.
There are only so many reasons someone would be at a Frogro past 11 at night and none of them involve good decision making skills.