by Johnny McNulty

Huntsman freshman asks hallmates to stop referring to her as “She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
        The reasons vary from “serious voodoo shit” and “empty, soulless black eyes” to “unfettered bitchery”, but residents have been warned that Sarah “Face Eater” Federowicz from Squirrel Hill, PA is not to be crossed.
        “Seriously, this is not cool,” uttered the flaming-skulled sorceress, aged 18. “I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m in the Huntsman program,” she said, as she methodically peeled the skin off a still-living rat with her mind. “It’s not my fault I’m both good at math and languages. I think the guys are especially threatened.”
        “This is an adjustment period,” said Adam Lyons ’07, the hall’s RA. “Sarah is just getting used to living away from home, just as everyone else on the hall is adjusting to obeying her every whim.”
        Some, like Peter Bolt ’09, see their peer’s disdain for the omnipotent polymath as frivolous. “I mean, whatever you’re doing, we’re all at the same school. I came here to study painting, and you can’t argue about who’s smarter,, because painting uses a different part of the brain than the ones used for business, Spanish or invoking demons.”
        A different opinion was offered by fellow freshman Jeff O’Toole shortly before he exploded into a vaporized red cloud: “Am I the only one who’s noticed she’s a fucking devil-spawn witch!? Who gives a shit if she’s in Huntsman? Is anyone else’s head boiling?”

Beta male backs down at frat party.
        Penn social events form a fragile and complex ecosystem, like a tide pool or a coral reef: a harmonious triumvirate of chugging, grinding and lying about being a virgin/werewolf. However, resources like bottom-shelf liquor and potential mates are often scarce, and such was the case at an open-air beer party last night.
        “I’m not really sure what happened,” said College freshman Jane Gaffer “I was talking to a really nice guy in a button down when suddenly he locked eyes with another guy behind me.”
        From what I saw, the two men then danced around Jane whilst wafting snifters of brandy and exchanging social barbs. Geoff Hawthorne, the eventual victor asked, in oh-so-droll a tone, “I say Bill, I like your shirt, did you get that at the Polo outlet in Paramus?” With the gauntlet thrown down, Bill Auburn mustered all the patois he could but could only counter with “You’re not so very rich, you know.” Here Bill broke eye contact with Geoff Hawthorne and ran over to a corner to pick bugs out of another submissive male’s tweed jacket.
        “Then the new guy circled me three times, then peed on my leg. He’s from Greenwich. I guess he’s my boyfriend now.”
        “You ever see those sea lions with like 50 bitches? That’s me.” Geoff said in between bites of his Warrior lacrosse stick.