v.1 (Yiddish) to complain
To the couple I saw holding hands while going for a run: Really?
To the guy who handed me a CHiPS show flyer and then offered me a baby: Are you for real?
It’s Friday, Friday, getting down on Friday… So that means yesterday was Thursday, and tomorrow is Shut Up Rebecca Black Day.
Dear COMM 130 teacher: Could you really not find any examples to show us other than the German propaganda film “Triumph of the Will” starring Adolf Hitler?
To the cute guy who had to pick up the condom that flew out of my backpack in Starbucks, take the hint!
To Marvin, Robert and Greg: I’m no longer mad you guys took the gifts and money. By the looks of this NFL lockout, it might be the only check you get for football this year.
To the tall, dark and handsome scholar of first floor Davis: I don’t come to the library to check books out.
To the person who publicly declared they had sex last night on the
discussion board in bio: I’m impressed you could text that. Your hands must be so sore!
To my boyfriend who got a shamrock shaved into his head: Glad you have St. Patrick’s day spirit, but you won’t be getting lucky anytime soon.
Dear Ehringhaus spiders: I know I’m irresistible without any clothes, but I only allow (attractive) bipeds in the shower with me.
To everyone that came back from Spring Break with a broken limb or damaged face: I salute you.
Things I love: Roommates who go to Dubai for spring break and leave a $225 electric bill and no electricity.
Over/Under: One year before it comes out that Ryan Kelly is actually Coach K’s illegitimate child who is only playing due to blackmail.
To the Dook fans quietly sitting behind me at Top of the Hill during the championship game on Sunday: Why don’t you guys grow a pair and wear your team’s gear instead of Metallica T-shirts?
To the guy with the half-finished tattoo of Tweety Bird on his leg: How was your spring break?
So you had fun at Mardi Gras on Spring Break, but there is really no reason to wear your beads today. To class. A week later.
To the guys playing street hockey on the tennis courts at the end of spring break: You’re not in New Jersey anymore.
To the most wonderful girl in the world, who I have been dating for four years and six months: I would love to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?
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