v.1 (Yiddish) to complain
Dear rando Phil: It is not okay to sit with three sophomore girls and then bash their love of cheese sandwiches.
Has any one seen my duck Petey? I may have left him on the P2P …
To the guys flying around the corners of Cobb parking deck: This is NOT “Tokyo Drift.”
To the girl in my COMM class who doesn’t know the difference between abstinence and obsolescence: I know what you didn’t do last night.
Umm … did you really just answer your phone while on the toilet? And then put it on speaker?
To the violinist in the Hill Hall practice rooms: I seriously thought you were a dial-up connection.
Dear guy in Lenoir wearing pink and purple camouflage: Were you planning on hiding in a gay forest?
To the guy Googling, “How to teleport into the future” in ANTH 319: I wish this class was over too.
To the couple in the UL sharing an apple: Next time, please just buy two.
To the girl who stopped an elevator full of people on the second floor of Hamilton: Calling yourself out on it as you enter the elevator does not make it okay.
Dear Winter Olympics: Thanks for filling the void UNC basketball has left in my life.
Dear A bus: You are always unpredictable and you come at all the wrong times … just like my boyfriend.
To the girl walking in front of me singing Pocahontas: Can the “Colors of the Wind” blow you a little to the left so I can get around you?
Was that snow or anthrax?
Thursday’s DTH headline, “Wyher on Top Underwater,” sounds like the title of a kinky porn film.
So the losing basketball team can get new uniforms, but I can’t get a certificate for making dean’s list because of budget cuts? Nice, UNC.
Dear dude with the leopard-print umbrella: Seriously? It’s not even raining that hard.
To the loud girls from my hall in Craige: I know UNC students are competitive, but that doesn’t mean you should go at it in “who’s louder during sex.”
Dear roommate: Stop reading “New Moon” to your girlfriend over the phone. Listening to all of “Twilight” was bad enough.
To the girl in the back row of GEOL 101 who incessantly complained to the assistant about not being able to see the board: Sit in the front, you idiot.
Send your one-to-two sentence entries to email@example.com, subject line ‘kvetch.’
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