Marc Rowan's Awesome Day

We get it, you went to KitKatClub last night. Whatever. You can literally do that in Philadelphia too. It’s called TLO.

"Eh, I figured I’d talk to them for like an hour and see if I got a job."

When Wharton Wellness’ paramilitary wing showed up to Gregory College House with a warrant, I knew that my luck had run out.

When questioned for comment, the brothers only had good things to report about the now-international Trillo. “It’s just nice to be with some of your own,” responded a Castle brother from the Philadelphia Main Line. 

It’s not in Philadelphia that I will write my magnum opus or cure my own common cold, but in a place unknown to man.

From the GSRs, the Wharton students who book them can see every non-Wharton student, but these second-class citizens will never know whether or not they are being watched.

Whatever happened to DEI?

“OMG bitch, he’s so into you!” I reply. 

Eat a burger, you sick fuck.

Clearly, this is a call to action. The entire club turned and looked at one another. We knew what must happen.

We return to fantasy not to forget, but to remember: other futures are possible. 

Please stop this madness.

Malaise is the Pantone color of the year. Use that in a sentence today.

"Persnimmon?” What the fuck? 

Et tu, Brute?

She was colors and light. She was clouds and trees. She was the water my mother drank while we were in her womb. We are twins, could you have guessed?

Read a poem. Write a poem. Make the mistake of starting something new.

Maybe it was about the friends we made along the way.

Although this event of biblical importance happened over two months ago now, its impact on human life will forever and always be marked as a measurement of excellence and achievement.