Spooky poetry inspired by the market sandwich


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Last weekend, our writer Tyler Raso put dozens of Thrill headlines into a bot, and then forced the bot, against its and our will, to generate content for us. Every day this week, one article on the site will be one of the prompts the bot generated. These are our stories.

Peers, friends, lovers. How does one even begin to broach the subject of the market sandwich? How does one even look one in the eye and dare to love? I am at a loss, at a standstill. Where do I start? At the lettuce? The bread? The Thousand Island dressing? I must confess I’ve never felt this way about anything before. A love like this is a burden. It haunts me, consumes me, fills me with something dark and urgent, and, Reader, I am afraid.

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I forced a bot to read over 1,000 Kenyon allstus and asked it to write an allstu. Here is the result:



A greeting to the Sad Children!

The Music Lessons march to their deadline like ominous ants. But– worry not, young Revelers:

[image result for John Green Contemplating. The teeth…they come out of hiding]

The registrar will cradle you gently until 4:69 PM

A sweet plea for your presence that does not reveal how desperate I truly am.


Signs off wetly,

Professor Spiderman