1. Leave notes in books that imply a campus-wide Masonic influence. 2. Climb on the roof(s). 3. Invade another carrel. 4. Fill your carrel up to the window with tennis balls and then print out explanatory notices with dialogue from … Read More
On March 25, Jason Bell—Columbia University freshman, gastronome-in-training, and editor of the _Columbia Spectator_’s “Food & Drink” section—published a scathing review of Coliccio & Sons…
In the sultry, slow, even-toned raps his fans have come to love, Cam tells the story of his escapades with a fine young piece and how he changed her life by hitting the bottom of her punani. His voice rides cleanly over the lyrics he spits, even when they somehow don’t actually rhyme.
1. Natalee Holloway. 2. James Taylor, and the giant pussies who love James Taylor. 3. Wasps who give “spiels”. 4. My roommates using my Ann Coulter poster as a jizz-rag. 5. That one kid who finished Infinite Jest. 6. Vaguely … Read More
Princeton’s campus is insulated from the dangers of a city. It teems with P-Safe cars. But for much of the community, in the privacy of our dorm rooms and our own mattresses, it is not safe.
“Master Race! Master Race!” chanted my drunken Aryan friends. The “Beer Olympics” had seemed like a great idea; what better way to build camaraderie amongst brothers than to engage in the spirit of competition, and to do it while getting shitfaced?
Nearly every object in the Princeton University Chapel has been given in someone’s memory. Names of dead Princetonians are etched on the backs of pews, on plaques at the bases of statues, on the very stones that form the Chapel … Read More
