The Daily Tar Heel
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The Daily Tar Heel

v.1 (Yiddish) to complain

Currently playing the “Whose boots are louder?” game with every other female on campus.
Chancellor Folt going 76 in a 55 mph zone. #PJstatus

To my music TA who showed disinterest in a Beethoven song in class: May you rest in peace.

The two kinds of people at Rams Head on Sunday mornings: Those who just got Jesus and those who need Jesus after last night.

As an English major with 23 books this semester: All I do is read, read, read no matter what — got plot points on my mind, I’ve already had enough. :(

Did I miss the memo that Lenoir cookies are an aphrodisiac or something? Why, WHY is there so much excessive petting and groping among couples up in here?

How can we be expected to teach athletes how to read if they can’t even sit in these small desks?

She got me interested with that upperclassman postcolonial dialogue, but lost me with that first-year status. Too bad. She puts the “pretty” in pretty sneaky.

The chancellor caught speeding? At least the car wasn’t owned by “Fats” Thomas.

So far this semester I’ve seen a girl’s Vagisil poking out of her bag, witnessed someone fall down a flight of stairs, had an awkward encounter with a UNC basketball player and been called Jesus Christ. So much to kvetch about and so little time…

Paul Revere was a more effective emergency warning system than Alert Carolina.

Great to see that the basketball team has finally found some consistency, the 0-3 sort of consistency.

Shoutout to the bartender at Linda’s who recognized me after I spent my 21st birthday there…I had no idea who you were.

Don’t we have uniform admission standards for everyone? Is applied pragmatic hypocrisy what we’re here to learn?

Our buses are getting pulled over and signaling for help — I think it’s safe to say that everyone on UNC’s campus is riding the struggle bus this week, including the buses.

To the guy in Sociology 252 who just lowered the brightness on his laptop screen to check out his own reflection…SMH.

Student Card is more psychotic than the creepy guys who message you on Grindr at least five times in 90 minutes.

Twenty-five students fighting for three open seats in a class: UNC’s own personal Hunger Games reaping. May the odds be ever in your favor.

Send your one-to-two sentence entries to, subject line ‘kvetch.’

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