v.1 (Yiddish) to complain
Trading basketball tickets is dishonorable? In ECON 101, it was called “market efficiency.”
To the girls maliciously throwing sticks at the squirrels in the tree: You are starting a war that you will never win.
You know it’s midterms when the climb to third floor Murphey is the most exercise you’ve gotten all week.
To the owner of Mellow Mushroom: Sorry, but on a college budget, a $25 pizza falls under the “fine dining” category.
Dear Davis Library, the construction workers and Wendy’s stench are not a great look for you. I think we should start seeing other people.
Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea, yay top of Lenoir!
To the boy giving away his firstborn for Dook tickets: I know who you are, and if your child is as attractive as you, we might have a deal.
To whoever wrote, “the one ring to rule them all” on the plastic ring in the physics lab: Care to grab some second breakfast with me?
Nothing like trying to study in a construction zone the week before spring break.
Norovirus: The solution to the freshman 15.
To the girl getting Alpine with completely see-through leggings: You could really use a full length mirror.
Hey ladies, Andrew Wiggins better not leave here unsatisfied on Saturday … If you know what I mean.
I’d like to think that the late-night Morrison fire alarm interrupted a romantic evening with my significant other, but it just turns out that my hand can wait 10 minutes.
To anyone who has contracted norovirus and therefore can’t use their Duke ticket: Help a junior out?
Silent mode is not silent mode if your phone is vibrating on the table.
To the individuals taking up four-person tables in Lenoir: The rest of campus needs to eat lunch, too.
I throw my Spanish in the air sometimes, saying ayo, no comprendo.
Midterm week, when people send out emails asking for notes due to a “crashed computer.”
After Sunday’s game, I expect to see Roy Williams in the Tar Pit this fall.
How am I supposed to get my revenge now that Tar Heel Makeouts isn’t tweeting anymore?
Dear anarchists, why do you hate me? Love, the windows.
Send your one-to-two sentence entries to email@example.com, subject line ‘kvetch.’
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