v.1 (Yiddish) to complain
I would like to meet the people in my dorm whose wi-fi signals are named “hide yo kids, hide yo wi-fi” and “accio internet.” That does not go for the owner of “onions.”
To the Alpine guy who gave me four extra pickles when I asked for one: please marry me.
Hey, N.C. State, you guys should try to fill Reynolds without the President being there.
But seriously, who HASN’T been fondled inappropriately when riding the P2P?
Dear girl complaining loudly about how slow I walk while on the phone: the phone’s got nothing to do with it. Next time I’ll just forget I’ve got Cerebral Palsy and pick up the pace for you.
To the guy at the HSL microfilms desk watching porn: that ain’t your anatomy homework Dr. Sneaky.
Am I missing something? I thought everyone was inappropriately touched on the P2P. It’s like an unwanted rite of passage that happens all the time.
To the guy who races me to the same couch in Davis every Tuesday and Thursday morning: I own you.
Psalm 100, you shouldn’t believe everything you read in books.
To the girl who cat-called me via kvetch last week: I am more than just a haircut. Love, your friendly neighborhood mulletman.
To the four loud ladies I walked by: celebrating Hanukkah does NOT make you a Hanukkan.
Whoever spray painted a Punnett Square on the side of Murphy: thanks for reminding me about my genetics homework.
Dear marching band: It is not appropriate to play “Living on a Prayer” when we’re playing Rutgers — it’s the national anthem of New Jersey.
To the cute scholarship girl in my biology class: Want to make like a secretory protein and go out?
To the girl in my GEOG 111 class: that state “just to the west of Texas” is New Mexico. FYI.
You know Lenovo Thinkpads suck when my trips to ITS outweigh the number of times I’ve gotten laid for the semester. ‘Til next time…
To the girl on the elevator in Morrison who can’t date anyone who hasn’t had a death in their immediate family: try checking the hospital for some eligible bachelors.
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