The Things I’d Do to Get a Tunnel Under This School
While the snow, accelerated by the wind, stabbed me over and over again in the eyes this week, I realized one thing: Northwestern needs a tunnel.
While the snow, accelerated by the wind, stabbed me over and over again in the eyes this week, I realized one thing: Northwestern needs a tunnel.
Kinda got me thinking: “What if he just wasn’t alive anymore?”
The difference is for me it’s still true, and I’m extremely popular and good-looking as well.
Dear Flippington, If you haven’t noticed, it’s that time of year again. All the high schoolers are lining up like lambs to the slaughter to visit our wonderful campus. But they don’t know the horrors. Those guides won’t tell them about the last-minute dining hall crowds at 7, they won’t tell them about the religious zealots on Sheridan that try to trick you into giving them your soul through free coffee, and they sure as hell won’t tell them that
I don’t condone violence. I don’t condone breaking traffic rules. But I do condone following honor codes typically used by children.
It flashes before my eyes. A streak of gray, a small chittering sound, and a set of wide eyes entice me. My mouth waters, soaks in anticipation. I must eat. The hunger consumes me, ravages my body. I am as ravenous as a skeleton waiting for its next indigestible meal. I lock eyes with the creature, my prey. It chomps on its acorn, daring me to bite. Oh squirrel, I must devour you! The sumptuous squirrels on this campus are
“On that note,” Mr. Freely continued, “I must admit the depiction of Harley Quinn, especially the breast to waist ratio, was done perfectly. I had a hard-on the whole film!”
“So, I heard there was a coyote running around campus the other day, wreaking havoc…heh…pathetic.” *I stand up from my chair, my large black boots hitting the ground. I have on a tight black top with a leather miniskirt and fishnets. I open my emerald green orbs and smile the smile of someone who is the opposite of sane.* “You want to know my name?” I growl. “Since when has any1 wanted 2 know my name?” “Most days, I lurk
Dear Flippy, After watching Damian Lillard win the NBA All-Star 3-Point Contest for the second straight year, a burning question came over me. He’s always introduced with the phrase, “It’s Dame Time!” and then he points at his wrist accordingly. It’s cool, it’s fun, whatever. But I began to think about its real life applications. I’ve heard that Lillard is as clutch in the sheets as he is on the court. Thus, do you think he says, “It’s Dame Time!”
One word. Six letters. You probably glance at them every single day before you look up whatever depraved topic is on your mind—but do you really SEE them?? I do. I see them. I see the greatness of the Google logo, and its potential for continued greatness, specifically in the line of work that is oral pleasure. Firstly, listen to the name itself. Google. Such a pleasant repetition of sounds in a unique combination. It’s a treat to roll the