Joe Biden has been flip-flopping for the last 50 years. Meanwhile Col. Sanders has been using the same 11 herbs and spices. Sure, the Colonel is not a seasoned veteran of the political process, but goddamn if that chicken isn’t perfectly seasoned every time.

We tried Trump’s mama bear politics, and people are too scared for Bernie’s papa bear sensibilities, so it’s time to settle right in the middle and get cozy with baby bear Jeb.

The day I stumble upon $1000 in my Venmo balance is the day I decide to wholly commit myself to making Andrew Yang the President of these United States.

Between canvassing, registering voters, and getting positively trashed to cope with the fact that Mike Bloomberg is actually gaining traction, my fellow Dems and I have no time to sleep. That is why we have taken the time to record our most skilled phone bankers in the act. 

If my body can transform a panini into poop, then I should be able to change the number of protons in an atom. 

As your hand glides ever so sensually along the Huntsman staircase railing, you can practically hear your name being announced, the applause, the oohs and ahs.

I’ve been here before. I know it — it’s a feeling I can’t seem to shake. The gentle lapping of waves. The buzz of the fluorescent lights. The chlorinated burn. The never ending drip...

Frank discussion is the first step toward genuine understanding, and I know that we are collectively baffled by the choice of light fixture in the glass-enclosed lobby of the local pizza joint.

Ok, hear me out. I know it's a long-shot, but there's still a chance, I promise. Honestly, I'd even argue that she's the front-runner at this point. Only real political science gurus like myself can see behind CNN's veil of ignorance and understand that the real Democratic candidate in 2020 will be none other than Kamala Harris. 

It’s tasteful — the human body is a beautiful thing. This carrel is my studio; it is my blank canvas for sensuality. This is the art form that will launch me to stardom.

Hi, my name is Patrick. I've overheard thousands of conversations and have been included in 3 or 4. If you're not a gifted conversationalist like me, you might be wondering, "how do I do these dang things?" But don't worry pal, I'm here for you. Here are some helpful tips that can get you started.

While my haters may say making jokes about World War III is disrespectful, I’m here to say that this is no joke. As someone who has dodged the draft over 12 times and disrespects the troops at every possible waking moment, this is made in pure earnest in order to help my fellow countrymen disavow their own personal and local military industrial complex.

I clambered into this world a cold, disgusting little worm man. Even the mound of garbage from which I was created could not bare to house me. And so, like the near-sighted, mud-dwelling mole that I am, I gnarled my way through the heap and into the blinding sun.

Last night at dinner, I was having my son Daniel reenact bits by my favorite stand-up comedians, and let me tell you: he was a riot. He performs them perfectly, just like Jerry Seinfeld. Daniel's grandmother and I could not stop laughing! 

Oh you want to know if I’ll give up any of the outlets I’m occupying? Well gosh, let me think about that. I certainly can’t unplug my space heater or my portable air conditioning, lest my body temperature stray from this equilibrium. I guess I could give up the plug for my massage chair, but it’s just not that comfortable when it’s just sitting in one place.

Of course I resorted to this. I have everyone at The Daily Pennsylvanian as we speak, and I don't plan to let them go anytime soon. 

There’s a couple of potential answers to her inquiries. You could definitely lie and say you usually take a power nap at 8:35 PM while studying for finals, and you just forgot to turn the alarm off.

Wait, hold up. No way. Are you fucking kidding me right now? Smoke? I just wanted to fry up a late-night dish, and this is what I get? Oh shit oh fuck that’s a lot of steam

It’s come to my attention that I’ll never be an antique bison. Try as I might, I am only a twenty-fifth of it’s size, far less stately than I once had hoped. 

Listen, buddy, whatever you’re blabbering on about right now, I don’t want to hear about it. You could literally be telling me that the final for my Art History class has been canceled and I couldn't care less! You know why? Cuz you, and that mouth of yours, have been getting on my nerves lately.