Greetings, ladies, gents, and those who do not fall within the suffocating constraints of the gender binary. Let me get straight to the point. I seek to answer an age-old question plaguing many a Kenyon student: what the fuck is a market dog? This coveted commodity, supposedly more than just a hot dog, is sold for 75 cents apiece at the Village Market. However, these things of legend are but a mere fraction of the great body of Kenyon lore. But they are a mere fraction no more. On Tuesday, April 9, myself and some of my idiot friends set out to answer this question for ourselves.Continue reading
It is written in the contrails of airplanes slicing through the sky. It is written in the frown lines on your professor’s forehead when you ask a stupid question (yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question). It is written in jacuzzi bubbles rising to the water’s surface, breaking, releasing their hot air. Chris Raffa. Chris. Raf. Fa. Three perfect syllables. One perfect man. I’m here to wipe his record clean. He DOES think women are funny. It turns out he thinks I, specifically, am not funny. Fair point Raffa. How was your weekend?
“Terrible now that you brought me up again in a Catchup.”
“Chris it’s only because I want your attention.”
How can you become a diamond on Old Bob’s necklace of kindness? I honestly have no idea. He’s never even given me a second look when I walk up to the dessert section (which is frequently).
I want to preface this cursed article by saying that I am fully aware of how disgusting the concept of this is. I’m here to tell you that I don’t give a singular hoot. Needless to say, I didn’t care enough about myself or my health to stop myself from embarking on this journey! Here are five outfits perfect for any occasion that I made from the pile of clothes left in the Old K laundry room:
It’s that time of year folks. Time to do the things you need to do before you do the things you need to do.