Look at this Dog!


Young man, there’s no need to feel down
I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground
I said, young man, ’cause you’re in a new town 
There’s no need to be unhappy


Lit Lit: Lolita


Lit Lit is a segment here on The Thrill in which I get someone lit (yup) and then that someone chooses a work of literature and gives me a summary and quick discussion of the themes of that work” (Raffa 2017). We’ve got Cream of Focaccia (a self-proclaimed “NNabovokov” expert and enthusiast) here to talk to us about Lolit(lit)a. Due to some technical difficulties, this Lit Lit is a little nontraditional.

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10 o’ clock List: Unsolicited advice from your mother, or unsolicited advice you give your mother?


Parents weekend is truly a time. A moment in time. A collection of moments in time which we call collectively a weekend. What a nice invention that humans made. They made the week and then they said, heck, we have this dangling clump of time like a juicy juicy Golden Delicious and we gotta do something with it, heck, or else nothing will be done with it. Someone said we can call it the end! And everyone agreed that was a terrible idea. But because the guy who suggested that was just so very pathetic everyone decided to squish the week and the end together and call it a weekendWhat should we do with it? a voice rose from the crowd. In a peal of genius, somebody responded nothing. A wave of spearmint feeling fell over the universe.

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Kenyon Pets: Rhubarb Raso

Look at my dog. He’s the most beautiful ugly dog on this side of the space/time continuum. I love my dog. He keeps me warm. He keeps me young. He smells like feet and sunshine. His name is Rhubarb, which is short for Rhubarbara, which is short for Rutabagababushka. Named after my grandfather. My dog could beat your dog in any contest. Spitting for distance? Setting cakes on fire? Eating hay? I’ve never seen something eat so much hay. A lawnmower with saliva. Wonderful.  Continue reading

10 O’ Clock List: Number of Times I Farted at A Cappella Rehearsal the Other Day

10 O’ Clock List: Number of Times I Farted at A Cappella Rehearsal the Other Day

It’s a Sunday and I downed some whipped cream. Straight from the nozzle like an animal. Like somebody who knows exactly what sin is. This is good and clean and fun but I’m lactose-intolerant and that sweet sweet heavy cream gives me some sleepy, sloppy farts—some creepy, crappy farts. It’s like Dr. Seuss said: “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes,” and, well, I got gas in my caboose Mr. Seuss and she’s ripping loose like stinky one-liners during amateur hour at the comedy club. You heard that thunder on Sunday? Nope. That was my rear end belting and swan-songing like the prima donna’s understudy.

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