For one reason or another, you find yourself at the bottom of Penn’s social hierarchy. That’s ok. Maybe you’re ugly or from a weird state. Nothing you can really change. 

Send out that When to Meet, sync your GCals, and enjoy your new best friend! 

They’re all in Spain, frolicking in Salamanca. 

Oh Herr Engels, Herr Marx, Chairman, Uncle Ho. I thank thee for my great fortuna. Margaret from Ohio does indeed support labor. 

I am now one Telfar and/or Marc Jacobs away from fully comprehending Penn-womanhood.

Each time I see the oh so not recognizable Amalfi Coast, a discreet half image of Big Ben, or the completely unfamiliar Sydney Opera House, my mind fills with textbook figures of gouty white men in uniforms stepping out of armed ships and [ACTION REQUIRED] emails. 

Sinning runs rampant; intoxication, fornication, and spiritual deprivation all accompany “Meeting the Bros” or “dirty rushing.” However, there is a way to do away with this filth and rush properly – rush how Jesus would. 

A decisive blow that’s sure to usher in new social interactions and a newfound appreciation for small, working-class communities: Penn Admissions has accepted a scrappy young fellow into the Class of 2027.

They literally don’t belong here.

Unbeknownst to me, that little bitch (read: fantastically successful and impressive athlete) just doesn't give a fuck about the beautiful things I have to say to her.

Despite never taking a dance class in my life, the representatives regard my pudgy legs and deem them “perfect for our types of choreography.”

Imagine you came up with these awesome email ideas but are still struggling to get that letter. You’re seeing people around you. They’re going to career fairs. Where are you? Wilcaf. Writing satire. They have jobs. You don’t. They’ve been accepted to their abroad programs. You haven’t. 

I want to explore the world! I want my mind, body, and soul to experience different environments, different cultures, different halal carts, even! 

In response to this crisis, Penn has decided to remove all plumbing in DRL until 2028.

As I hobbled down the hallway, I took a quick glance to my left and saw my reflection.

Now you know how large these buildings are, as well as the color of my nails. 

The people manning the booths were completely unfashionable and some clubs – see MERT – even prided themselves on NOT being drinking clubs.

 Through candid conversation, a consensus emerges: we should have affirmative action for rich people.

Is this some sort of karmic retribution for my entitlement, is the world mocking my self-assuredness, in an attempt to prove me woefully wrong?

“If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane.” – Jimmy Buffett