Look, I’m not gonna beat around the bush. Here at the Thrill we like to do dumb shit in Peirce that would upset our health-conscious parents and is probably contributing to our inevitable descent into heart failure. It’s almost become a rite of passage to debase ourselves in the servery and this week, it’s finally my time to shine. But what could I do that would keep your attention? How do I cater to the ever-shifting eye of Kenyon’s student body?
My answer: I let an AI tell me what to eat. It made me physically ill. It made me sad.
This is my story.