SHOUTOUTS BY THE NUMBERS: SPRING 2016
Getting into Penn is easy compared to getting into Shoutouts.
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Getting into Penn is easy compared to getting into Shoutouts.
Shoutout to Malia for being the coolest, raddest, best big in the whole world ily To Danny Shulman - I have a questionPenis
To the guy who booty texted me emojis: I'm an English major. Use your words.
Motivated Flinger: After making Moscow mules, I've decided to be a professional lime squeezer. As an occupation.
Ah, FOMO. The silly, sing–song sound of the word is almost as ridiculous as the fact that it’s a legitimate emotion we feel, like, all the time. Otherwise known as “Fear of Missing Out," FOMO comes in many forms. It's that inexplicable pang of anxiety you experience when your friends are ripping shots in the living room, and you’re trying to bullshit a paper due that night. It’s that feeling of tender heartbreak when you miss one weekend at school, and someone tells you about some epic night he or she had. It’s even when you actually go to Pool Party, Owl's Brunch, etc. but see Facebook pictures later of people who don’t just look like they had fun, but that they fucking killed it.
Twas’ the night before Fling, and all throughout Penn, not a student was working, but blackout by ten. Bankers handles arranged on the counter with care, in the hopes that the pregame would render them bare. And the freshmen all nestled in their shitty dorm beds, while visions of debauchery danced in their heads.
WuFoo Form
1. The strait–laced kid from your recitation who is raging harder than you are.
Power Bottom: I could use a nine inch dick in my ass right about now.
So, you’re gonna act all uninformed at first, like, “Oh—DJ Three–Lau, who the hell is that?” And trick your friends into thinking that you don’t know how to say his (her? LOL another good joke!) name by dropping “DJ Bee–Lau”on them. You’ll seem so informed because at first you faked them out like you didn’t know stuff, but now you do know stuff. Comedy!
Here are a few that have worked in the past: “Ping Pong? More like fling flong,” “Give me some immodium, because I have a terrible case of flingarrhea,” and “My parents don’t love me but at least fling does!”
Because sometimes puns and pop culture references get old.
$20—Cover charge at fling downtown
The acceptance rate for the Penn Class of 2020 was a jaw dropping 9.4%. As a current high school junior it might feel like your dream of being a Quaker will never come true...and well, for 90.6% of you, you’re probably right. But there are a few things you can do to give yourself an edge.
For those who are still somehow making it to classes nowadays, you’ve probably been harassed once or twice by a flyerer on Locust. To alleviate your stresses, Highbrow’s dishing out something you’ll actually want to read. Before you commit yourself to seeing five performing arts shows this weekend, we need to aca–tell–ya all things brunch and all–around bold. In case you need a little more than some aural fixation, the Round Up is here to satisfy your gossip cravings.
1st Floor: You’re here to jog and be seen, and don’t mind running into everyone you know.
What better way to welcome your baby Quaker to Penn than to introduce them to the number one leading cause of falling down the stairs into their vomit–soaked fracket, peeing on a wall adjacent to the bathroom for no apparent reason and drunk texting their ex who they haven’t talked to for a solid three years? Luckily, it also seems to cause selective amnesia.
6:37 am: I realize I don’t have to meet my host for another three hours. I wait patiently, staring at the clock and checking to see if college Yik Yak is truly as great as they say.
You cannot trust that goddamn transfer student that Residential Services assigned to live with you in your high–rise quad sophomore year when your fourth roommate decided to "live in her sorority house" for the "full sisterhood experience." Fuck you, Rachel. I don't have any bananas because of you.
Some lucky Quakers spent this weekend hunting for eggs full of candy and chocolate bunnies; Highbrow’s here to assure you that our Easter basket caught all the sweet gossip. The absurdity might come as a shock, like the the strangely flavored jelly beans you accidentally inhaled, but we’re not April fooling you.
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