v.1 (Yiddish) to complain
Friday mornings are just not the same at home. I miss the kvetch board, alpine, even my hangover.
To the ‘college kids’ studying in Davis: Your acne, braces, and talk of getting wasted at prom is a dead giveaway. Go back to Orange High.
To the person asking whether the guy wearing the “I heart the female orgasm” t-shirt knew that the ones he watched on the internet were fake: as his ex, I can assure you he wouldn’t know the difference.
To the dude sleeping in the Undergraduate Library at 3:00 p.m. on the second day of the first session of summer school: giving up on girls is one thing, but wow.
To the guy waving a flag on top of your frat house, as much as you wish you were, you are not a Navy Seal.
While all the summer cleavage is great, we still have to see frat boy legs covered in four inches of pastel shorts.
To the girl who told me to “shoo” at La Rez on Friday night: if you were any more shallow you would evaporate.
To Sean Hannity: listening to you analyze Common’s rap lyrics is absolutely hilarious.
To the ladies who ride the FCX bus, this is UNC transit, not Southwest Airlines. One carry-on bag per person, please.
Trying to find a job is like trying to find a decent guy in Chapel Hill.
Nothing like summer school to reconnect with one’s lesser friends.
To the girl who just stated that, “no one else knows she has one:” your camel toe isn’t THAT concealed.
The summer kvetching board, where even someone with the creativity of a communist uniform designer can get published.
To the lady at the soft serve machine in Lenoir, chocolate and vanilla is called ‘swirl’ not ‘squirrel.’
To the people in my apartment complex: if you’re not more respectful about your smoking habits, I’m going to kick your butt (pun intended).
Is it just me, or did the girl-to-guy ratio switch this summer?
Send your one-to-two sentence entries to email@example.com, subject line ‘kvetch.’
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