Looking Down at the Mods – One of the best parts about living in one of the dorms surrounding The Mods is the chance to stand by your window on a Friday night, preferably wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette, while flocks of freshmen descend from Upper and migrate from Newton. Those poor fools, desperate for the college experience. Laughing quietly to yourself, you take a long drag on your cancer stick, the smoke rising up and obscuring your face. You waited two whole years to be in this position, to be the upperclassman wielding your power over those beneath you. It was all worth it. Now you have the respect of freshmen who … have to knock on doors and try to get into parties … which is really important … and matters … and … and totally validates your existence and importance. Flicking your cigarette out the window, you struggle to form that trademark smirk of yours and fail. Not even cinematic gestures can help you now.
The Truth – After revealing the terrifying conspiracy behind the IIIIs on the BC clocks, the TU/TD team has been busy investigating the horrible plots behind every moment of our waking lives. These brave thumbmeisters are risking death, imprisonment, and housing probation to bring you faithful readers the truth and to save this campus from the brain-melting forces of IIII. Recently the TU/TD crew tapped into radio communications between some higher-ups in the BC conspiracy, evil operators who have infiltrated the very heart of our beloved campus. These radio communications consisted mostly of spontaneous karaoke sessions between conspirators, including an extended and rousing duet of Cher’s “Believe.” What kind of monsters are we dealing with here? TU/TD will never stop investigating. Stay tuned for the truth, BC.
Nodding and Saying Things a Second Before the Professor Does – “Then in 1971,” your professor begins. “A book called Love in the Ruins was published by—” “Walker Percy,” the kid next to you says, just quiet enough that it sounds as though he’s thinking out loud but just loud enough that everyone can hear him. “Yes,” your professor continues. “Now of course, in 1971 the Democratic senator from Iowa was—” “Harold E. Hughes, mhm,” the kid says, nodding. “Yup, knew that one before you even said it, teach.” ‘What?’ you think. ‘Why can’t this kid just be—’ “Quiet,” he whispers. You freeze, cold sweat running down your—. “Back,” he whispers, his lips only millimeters from your ear. You can’t move. You look straight ahead and hear the disgusting little mouth noises he keeps making as his spittle lightly coats your earlobe. “What are you?” you whisper, turning slowly toward him. Looking into his beady little eyes, you tremble as he caresses his wispy moustache. “Who am I?” he says. “I am smarter than you.” After he turns back toward the front of the class, you are left a puddle of insecurity and weakness, filled with the knowledge that not even your thoughts are safe.
Melting Ice Cream – This is a very serious concern. The plan was to wear these shorts for two more weeks, but now they have to be washed because the stupid freaking cookie monster ice cream melted all over them. Dang it.
Featured Image by Kelsey McGee / Heights Editor