Listening intently to the two gentlemen seated next to me on the bottom floor of Clemons Library discuss their boisterous escapades from the previous night, I concluded that everyone else on the floor must hear their conversation, too.
Being called the “whisper heard round Grounds,” third-year Engineering student Mark Reynolds reportedly remarked to a friend in class that the girl in the third row had “WAY too much makeup on. It just looks gross.” He then began to dig his own grave in earnest by further wondering aloud, “Why would anyone want to wear that much makeup? She must be pretty vain. She would look way better without it.”
You set your alarm for your 7:15 a.m. sign up time. SIS laughs when you get up at 7:05 a.m. to make sure nothing goes wrong, because SIS knows something will always go wrong — in fact, it plans on it.
The ideal job for my specific skills and goals would be one in which I bury myself in a hole. Every day I would show up at 9 a.m. on the dot and rake sand over myself, whispering, “Yes, very good, the perfect job.”
The following excerpts are notes from George R.R. Martin’s as-yet-unannounced eighth book in the Song of Ice and Fire series, in which all of the political intrigue and betrayal over the Iron Throne has been replaced by a modern bicameral legislative government.
If heaven is a place on Earth, then hell is a place called Amtrak.
I remember a time when life was simpler, when I didn’t have to fart so badly. I had time to go before class but I was too lazy to pause Netflix AND get up from my bed AND walk to the bathroom. It all seemed like too much at the moment.
It is obvious that a mass exodus from U.Va. is an issue of safety for minority groups. But in addition to providing safety, my proposal has the power to change the very structure of U.Va.
Do drunk people feel cold? Sure, we’ve all heard our fellow Hoos running down the Lawn belting, “The cold never bothered me anyway,” but intoxication and “Frozen” often go together.
You remember Wizard’s Chess. It was the game of strategy and wits that Harry and Ron played in lieu of getting high off of pure veritaserum extract with the other kids in the potions basement. What I propose to you, dear reader, is that each of us is playing a game of Wizard’s Chess against the powerful winds of nature and fate.
If your understanding of science is limited to what information the web has to provide on the formation of geodes (gas bubbles within volcanic rocks are filled over time with dissolved minerals, a process which can take thousands or even millions of years) then you’re going to have to find another way to sound smart.
If you’re feeling really ambitious, use your laptop to impress the people sitting behind you. Fill out a prestigious online internship application. Browse the international section of Le Monde and pretend to read about Egypt in French. Look at pictures of dogs. Use virtual gardening software to design your own vegetable garden.
Some people say love of fighting isn’t real, that it’s just a chemical reaction in the brain to ensure the continuation of our species. The scientific explanation for something doesn’t make it any less beautiful. When I look at this boy’s face, I think God himself designed it for me to hit it with a two-by-four.
To surreptitiously gain access to a Lawn room, some manuals may instruct you to make a wax copy of the key you purloined from the resident’s robe as they showered. Others say to send them on a quest for an example of student self-governance, or something equally fictional.
With each mindful sip you will experience waves of inner peace and tranquility wash over your body and essence, cleansing your scattered thoughts and leaving you feeling confident and beautiful. Experience breathtaking vistas of universal emptiness, with luminous visions of webs of Buddhas extending from complex cosmological visions of purelands and galaxies, to inner Buddha natures within life.
And it’s fine to be sad on Valentine’s Day. If you joke that you’re just gonna eat pizza and chocolate and watch Netflix, then absolutely do those things. That sounds awesome. Who wants some dude poking you with his boner halfway through “The Pelican Brief?” Not me. Take a night off.
The text, which came from a friend who wishes to remain anonymous, left me with two questions. Number one: why the hell would anyone care enough about what I had to say to write another article about it on this gay news website?
I’ll be spending the day as I always do — hiding in the corner of an upscale French restaurant and slipping engagement rings into champagne glasses for my research project.
The number of unread emails was embarrassing. But at that point it was beyond my control. They just kept coming. There was no way out.
Walking into the AT&T store felt like every time I’ve ever drank beer: everyone else is doing it, and even though it tastes bitter, at least people will stop trying to chide you into accepting their well-meaning but hopelessly misplaced offers.
