Dear Squirrel, you probably don’t remember me, considering that you were too busy being a dick. I tried to get by you on the street, but no. You were too busy turning an acorn around in your weird little skeletal paws. Not even eating it or intending to bury it. Just spinning it.
Mondays are band-aids that take 24 hours to rip off; weekly plagues sent from above to ensure people never have fun for more than six days in a row, unless you’re on vacation, in which case, karma will get you eventually. But if the human race collectively hates Mondays with such passion, why keep them around?
Dirty-looking white guy standing over a grill? We’re talking to you. Your mix of flannel and apron is neither aesthetically pleasing nor oozing sex appeal. And let’s face it, you’re probably going to burn the shit out of those steaks and end up ordering Domino’s anyway.
- SBW ’15. Artwork by AZ ’16.
Big news shook the heavens yesterday as the Universal Regulation and Astronomical Science Society (URASS) decided to remove Cancer from the zodiac. URASS announced the act in response to the tragic alienation of one 16-year-old Madison Blitzberry, who, in the midst of a slumber party horoscope reading, stated that she was a Cancer.
Yes, be an asshole.
From the South Atlanta edition of Better Homes & Gardens.
Though a fun, rewarding, and quintessential part of the collegiate experience, college a cappella can be a nightmare of nuance for the uninformed student. Even choosing which groups to audition for can be its own ordeal if you’re not sure what to look for. Here are some free hot tips that’ll put you on the fast track to instrument-free success.
I suppose Labor Day can also commemorate the state your mother must have been in just before you were, naked, bawling, and weighing one four thousandth of what you weigh now, ejected out of her cavernous and torn vagina, simultaneously marking the last time you will ever come into contact with a vagina and the beginning of your pathetically luxurious life.