Staffwriter
Trying to split the atom, 2029
Hailing from a place of good, if not always sound, breeding (one mustn't blame the fellow for their forebears), Bertie Wooster has traded the hallowed, if dreadfully dull, halls of the Drones Club for the marginally less dated dorms of Carnegie Mellon.
Named after a winning racehorse
Chasing rainbows
Wow, mommy's kissing Scotty Dog
I saw mommy kissing Scotty Dog
Right beside the sweepstakes track last night
She didn't see me creep
Past the booths to have a peep
She thought that I was tucked up in my dorm room, fast asleep
Then I saw mommy tickle Scotty Dog
Underneath his kilt so tartan bright
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy Farnam had only seen mommy kissing Scotty Dog last night
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Farnam had only seen mommy kissing Scotty Dog last night
It’s 2:17 AM. I’ve stumbled my way back to my dorm from some other person’s dorm. Don’t worry, their neighbors didn’t complain. Or, at least, we couldn’t hear any complaints. There’s vomit in the trash can and trash on the floor. The trash can is also on the floor. My dignity’s in the trash too. Anyways, my laptop screen is blindingly bright and my roommate’s just fallen asleep again. They woke up just to yell at me for arriving back at this unholy hour.
Why do I do this? Not because I’m an alcoholic. An alcoholic could never sustain …
The pervasive hum of the printing press putting out Readme’s weekly dreck has finally faltered. A well-meaning administrator, upon hearing the rumor the magazine runs on a 70/30 blend of grain alcohol and caffeine, initiated a campuswide effort to enforce the national ban on spirits. The goal was to improve its output, but the fallout has been dire.
The Readme office, once a vibrant den of inspired madness, resembles a UPMC autopsy center. Editors, now tragically lucid, are unable to reach their highs of maniacal, drug induced criticism. Writers are submitting coherent, factchecked articles that one disgusted reader criticized …