v.1 (Yiddish) to complain
So Marvin, if you’re not doing anything for the next month or so, want to be on our flag football team?
To the girls at Weaver Street Market: Is that a co-op number under your arms? Oh no, that’s just armpit hair. A lot of it.
To the freshmen girls who decided the building is called “Day” Hall: Go Dey.
Really DPS, a parking ticket on my bike? How do you expect to ever catch me?
To the girl who wrote the letter about the kvetching board being “sexist”: Can you please go make me a sandwich?
To the kid excessively sniffing in my history class: Do you have a deviated septum or have you been snorting with the sororities?
Dear Marvin Austin, I liked the blue Louis Vuitton man-purse you had at Sutton’s. Does your agent know where I can get one?
To the guy I saw buying bulk condoms at SAMs: Even Agamemnon thinks you might be going through too many Trojans.
To the baseball player doing laundry in Parker: Being hot may excuse you from a lot of things, but pouring liquid detergent into the DRYER while attempting to wash your clothes in unacceptable.
Socialists, I would love to read your newspaper, but isn’t making me pay for it a little bourgeois?
To the guy I hooked up with last week that drives the black Hummer, I wish you were as big as your car.
Dear Chi Phi pledge: we are glad your brothers enjoy “reverse cowgirl and morning BJs” and think “women aren’t supposed to drive.” P.S. Do you want your pledge notebook back?
To the guy I danced with at Players last weekend: I guess the saying is true. Beauty is only a light-switch away.
Sundress: $50, Ray-Bans: $100, Cowboy boots: $80. Being the epitome of a stereotype: Priceless. There are some things money can’t buy, for everything else there’s daddy’s MasterCard.
To the idiot who thinks my sundresses only cost $50 (where do you shop, Walmart?): Sundress: $500, Ray-Bans: $170, Cowboy boots: $450. Being better than GDIs: PRICELESS. There are some things money can’t buy; for everything else, there’s Daddy’s Amex … platinum.
To the person who left their iPhone in the Pit Stop last Friday, Don’t worry, I found it. P.S. — Olivia UNC says “holy s*** balls, I can’t walk.”
The fundamental Sunday morning question at UNC: Is that the walk of shame or are you on your way to church?
Who else has experienced acute bouts of epilepsy while studying under the “strobe-like” fluorescents at the UL study desks?!
Dear [B]Skis employee, Thanks for not calling the cops. I’ll try and pee on the Pita Pit next time.
To the guy on HoJo floor 5 who is always on the phone: Please shut up, we all know your girlfriend is banging someone else.
To the girl sitting in front of me in my Hebrew Bible class, looking at pictures of swastika underwear — there are Jews sitting behind you.
To the editors of the DTH: I hope your next meal at Lenoir gives you food poisoning.
To the people who choose which Kvetches to publish, which one of you do I have to sleep with to be chosen?
Does anyone know where I can register to vote?
If I see one more letter to the editor about being a coal-free campus, I’ll deliberately put myself on Santa’s naughty list to get some.
The Nerf gun might be replacing the lanyard as the best way to not get laid.
You know it’s Halloween when almost every bulletin board in the dorm warns you about the dangers of alcohol and the importance of contraceptives.
To the boy making my sandwich at Alpine: There is a fine line between being funny and completely insensitive. Guess which one making fun of my stuttering problem by asking me if I wanted a “puh-puh-pickle” would be under?
To my girlfriend, sorry but “No Shave November” is a double standard.
To dance marathon, is there like something going on? Are you guys like having some sort of event or something?
To the girl on Motown’s basketball courts: Thank you for proving there’s no correlation between the amount of skin you show and how good you are at basketball.
To the girl in Child Development who passed out from the picture of the placenta: Good luck having children.
CTOPS should include an informational session on how to not reply to an entire listserv.
To the person who sneeze-farted in the UL on Tuesday morning: You’re lucky that most people around you were wearing headphones. Too bad I wasn’t.
8th floor Mo-Town RA who told me I seemed to have my priorities in order: If you knew my priorities, you’d realize just how arrogant that was of you to say.
To the girl who threw up into her own Ugg last night: Congratulations. You just created the ultimate Kvetch.
Dear College Republicans: Holding your post-election party at an expensive restaurant and forcing the “common man” to pay to enter really isn’t helping your reputation.
Dear frat boy playing cornhole by yourself: Where are your brethren?
TJ, sorry about all the anonymous death threats last year… erm… interested in bearing my children?
Send your one-to-two sentence entries to email@example.com, subject line ‘_kvetch._’
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