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Hark, Neophyte! The Fates Sing Fortune and the Lust of Women!

Matt Damon

by The Oracle of Delphic

Sing, Fates! Sing what will become of those most esteemed members of the Delphic! 

The gods on Olympus have blessed our club with the all the will of Zeus himself, that most high and hallowed king before which even the board of the Harvard Financial Analysts Club must kneel. Fortune beyond compare, even to all the gold in the wondrous halls of Crete, is theirs for the taking for those sophomores who do not take issue with using an atmosphere of exclusivity to attract unsuspecting women.  

I Talked to the Moldy Chobani in My MicroFridge for 30 Days: My Philosophical Journey

I love my body. I love health. Having relationships, communication, is a healthy thing. When I got back to my room mid-January, though, my floor was deserted and I might as well have been the only person on Earth. But when I popped open the unplugged MicroFridge to find an unopened Chobani I myself had cruelly deserted, then decided to peel back the crusty-curded aluminum and snag a whiff, I knew I had struck an opportunity.

I’m the Little Birdy Your Mom’s Been Talking to And I’m Here to Fuck Up Your Shit

Tweet tweet. That’s right. It’s me, motherfucker. You know every time your mom has told you, “a little birdy told me” followed by some random messed up shit that you’ve done? That’s me, bitch. Big or small, life-threatening or otherwise, I will find out anything and everything that you have done wrong. In fact, my sole purpose in life is to keep your mom updated on all the reasons she should be disappointed in you. Room’s a mess? She knows. C on your midterm? She’s aware. One night stand with that boy Brad from the Alpha Chi Party? She’s on the phone with his mom right now.

Whoever is the Voice in the Elevator Can Absolutely Get It

CAMBRIDGE, MA -- Listen, I’ve ridden elevators hundreds of times, and never have I given it a second thought. I shuffle in, press the button for the thirteenth floor, stare at my shoes for 45 seconds, and go on my merry way.

But yesterday, in William James, everything changed when I noticed a smoky, disembodied voice coming from the corner -- an amorous timbre that set my heart aflame. It was an uneventful ride down from section until I got to the bottom of the shaft, the doors gave way, and I heard her croon the words every man longs to hear: “First floor. Main lobby.”

Thank You, Hollywood, for Finally Representing Queer People as the Manipulative Little Shits We Are

It’s no news that queer representation has been an issue in Hollywood. Since the birth of media, the narratives of people like me have been rejected from the big screen in favor of the same love story between a man and a woman being reiterated again and again. 

Now That I'm Off Social Media, My Asshole Sparkles Like a Diamond

Diamond

I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I deleted the apps for Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook last week, and let me tell you, it was the best decision I’ve ever made. You know why? Because I realized I was spending more time scrolling and liking than living, and also because as soon as I did, my asshole began to shine brighter than a diamond.

Overdosing Is Bad, But I’m Hungry and My Vitamin D Adult Gummies Taste So Good

Years ago, the D.A.R.E. program warned me not to become a statistic. Sure, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration has over a century of experience crafting careful nutrition guidelines. But right now, it’s 4am and I stand alone in my dorm room. Even El Jefe’s—that gastronomic patron saint of students with poor life choices—has closed her doors for the night. The only thing left at Brain Break is a giant loaf of that weird marble bread that nobody likes. I beg myself to just go to sleep and wake up early for breakfast tomorrow…

LEAKED: Draft of “My Recent Representation”

Dean Sullivan

Dear Eliot hey Stephanie what’s the name of this place again Winthrop Throp Students,

I, Too, Can Fuck

Mark Zuckerberg

Stop it. Just please stop. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t understand. Please stop talking about how much Jeff Bezos fucks. I don’t even think the nudes are his. I’m not just saying this because the idle thought of staging an elaborate affair and leaking my own nudes to the press occurs to me at least twice daily and four times on Wednesday. What do you mean “the top of the pubic region can be seen”? Jeff Bezos has no pubic hair. Or any hair. Jeff Bezos is a naked mole rat stacked on top of three small children. 

I’m Not Racist, I Have Black Friends (That I Want to Kill)

So I know you’ve all been getting pretty worked up about some statements I made a couple days ago. But let me assure you, the whole thing was a big misunderstanding, I swear. I love black people. After white people, they’re probably my favorite race. I have so many black friends. Like at least three. Would a racist even have one black friend? You tell me. 

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