“We’re not starting class until everyone moves up to the front. Sit closer, I don’t bite!” I looked around at the five other students who still attend section, wondering if Ned really needed us to move closer. Was this another GSI power trip? I knew he wasn’t a biter, but he clearly underestimated the power of a now-annoyed undergraduate student who skipped breakfast this morning. Maybe I should teach him a lesson. My mouth began to water at the thought of sinking my canines into Ned’s freckled arm. The sound of his howl would truly be music to my ears as I’d leave him with a permanent tattoo of my chompers. Who is Ned to tell me what to do!?
Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.
It’s a dangerous life. You’re always fighting demons, you’re seconds away from your insides exploding, and you’ve got to think twice before you eat at a mortal restaurant like Taco Bell. Believe me. But this is a warning—you can read the rest of this like it’s satire, and honestly, good for you. I wish I could do that. But if some of you feel a churning within while you’re reading, it’s a calling. You don’t have IBS, you’re a half-blood too.
All of life’s fleeting joys — sunrises, ripe avocados, silly string, hot chocolate — are mere trifles next to my GPA, the pinnacle of my existence that will undoubtedly be relevant in all areas of my life, forever and always.
Take it from me kids, crime does not pay. No matter how many cars I ticket or unhoused people I harass, I’m stuck in this …
There is no denying the facts: there is a man in your room. He’s standing over there, right where you usually leave your pile of laundry on your desk chair. Maybe you’re rubbing your eyes wondering if he’s real. He is. Very. He’s about 6’1, slender, and yeah, he’s wearing a tophat. He’s fucking stylish.
We’ve been hard at work formulating the perfect drug. Benadryl™ has been packaged in syrups, creams, chewable tablets, and a wide variety of over-the-counter deliriants. Now, in response to popular demand, we’ve begun adding extra diphenhydramine to each dosage of Benadryl™, the perfect amount to recognize that There Is A Man In Your Room. He Is Next To The Door. Don’t Look At Him.
In a stunning turn of events, the University of California, Berkeley, has made a groundbreaking error in its admissions process. The prestigious institution accidentally admitted you, a regular student, instead of the usual line-up of geniuses, valedictorians, taekwondo red belts, and future Nobel Prize winners.
I’m gonna be real honest with you guys in this article, okay? I’m gonna go too far for sure. I’m gonna go places that I don’t think you want me to go. I’m gonna get gross, that’s the one thing I know. But you’re already here, so sit back, relax, and read an entire article that is a not-so-clever guise for a fart joke.
See, the problem is this: we, the students of UC Berkeley, have a serious hypocrisy problem. We constantly bitch and moan about the “explosive potential” of Eucalyptus trees, as if our explosive potential isn’t just as serious after a GBC breakfast sandwich and Peet’s triple shot espresso.
Like, okay we get it, Eucalyptus trees are invasive, they are disruptive to the native ecosystem and take up far too much space on campus. You wanna talk about invasive? Let’s talk about every New York transplant in Berkeley. They are invasive as fuck. Invasive of my peace. Disruptive and harmful to the California natives with their constant complaining about the inefficiencies of BART. We get it, the subway is way better, shut the fuck up. We get it, you went to “underground” shows in Brooklyn. We get it, you “own a tattoo gun but only really like to do hand pokes”. Yes, I am talking about one specific person and yes, I do believe they are representative of every single New Yorker living in California. Too niche? Have I lost you yet? Hang in there, it’s only downhill from here.
Some people have accused me of being malfunctional, data-deficient, or even racist. I find all of these criticisms highly unfair. The truth is actually really simple—every Indian name is spelled wrong.
I know, even I’m shocked. In a place as gloom and doom as UC Berkeley, it’s hard to attract people organically nowadays. I’ve tried every …
You know that granola bar that’s been at the bottom of your backpack since late August? The one you threw in your bag before class …