As a rising junior and non-empathic sociopath, it’s difficult for me to place myself in a senior’s soon-to-be-graduating shoes. But according to the roughly eight thousand Facebook and SayAnything posts I’ve read, graduation is apparently a very emotional time.
I’ll let you all in on a little secret. Ever since I was just a young boy, I’ve been blessed with—nay, cursed with!—a terrible ability: the power to foretell the future from vague omens only I’m able to interpret. When I realized that in one month I would graduate from Vassar with a degree in English, an elaborate outline of the next year of my life suddenly appeared to me in the form of a collection of hastily-written diary excerpts. I figured why not allow all of you to benefit from my cursed affliction. Behold your future, future alumni. But beware—it’s bleak.
“Hell hath no fury like a rising sophomore realizing he/she’s going to be in a double next year.” (Source: The Bible, probably.) That’s right, my little droogies—unless you live in Strong, worship Satan, or bribed the heck out of Chris Roellke, it’s time for the absolute worst experience of your lives. But even though there is literally no way to ensure a comfortable living situation for yourself next year short of claiming to be Cappy’s long-lost daughter/son/pet/carpet, my guide to room draw may provide your fractured morale with the Krazy Glue of hope.
A completely honest cover letter from a Vassar student, by Columnist Brittany Hunt.
What the typical Vassar student's unvarnished resume looks like, courtesy of Humor & Satire Editor Alanna Okun.
Now that we’re all totally ecstatic about not having plastic water bottles on campus, we’ve almost forgotten how perturbed we were by the smoking ban. Personally, I started smoking cigarettes because I wanted to impress Justin Bieber with how mature I was; yeah, I’m of legal age to purchase cigarettes, no big.
A recent article in The Miscellany News discussed several dorms participating in a game known as Assassins. The article named five dorms—Joss, Raymond, Lathrop, Jewett and Davison—as participants and implied that this was a new tradition in the dormal community. Yes? No. Or should we say: No, Yes. Noyes House has organized a game of Assassins every year for at least the last five years.
Cappy has been holed up in her office for weeks, deviously smirking and wringing her hands in excitement about the imminent demise of innocent Vassar students, all to remind us that Ms. Catharine Bond Hill is in total power over our worthless lives. Still fuming from previous rebellions, Cappy and her henchmen have set up a particularly harrowing set of Hunger Games for the students this year. The planning has paid off, and 24 tributes have been chosen from student organizations to fight to the death on the quad.
Like many of my loyal readers, I too have spent the past several weeks hard at work applying to summer internships. And in the rare instances where my resume and sack of bribery cash haven’t been completely ignored, I’ve been enjoying the privilege of automated soul-crushers telling me that my skills and experience haven’t quite prepared me for the rocket-science-esque positions of “General Assistant” or “Humanoid Intern #54986.” Thankfully, just because I’m a complete failure doesn’t mean that I’ve lost the ability to tell you all how to do what I’m almost tragically incapable of doing myself! Follow my simple tips, and a high-paying internship in [insert city you find least despicable] will be yours!
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