In which an anonymous bwogger tries to write one simple sentence regarding the expeditious onset of this midterm season with his prematurely fried brain.

I just listened to Bwog’s official Thanksgiving song. It was so beautiful I cried. When my tears dried, I wrote this poem.

High class poetry from Bwog!

In which Bwog teaches you how to feel some purpose in your life with just 30 easy steps.

In which Bwog reviews Columbia University's frats in verse.

Midterms are the worst,
They make me hate everything.
End of this haiku.

I love you to the moon and back again.

The following is a back of the envelope calculation to determine how many dollars worth of snacks I stole from the Faculty House dining hall over winter break. It is not intended to be used as a guide for how you too can get free snacks. That would be wrong.

This semester has been marked by many ups (I’m assuming for some people) and downs (that’s more like it.) No matter how bad it got, though, nothing kept me up at night quite like the cringe-worthy interactions I had with professors this semester.

Have you ever looked at the names on the front of Butler and thought, “What if they had sex on camera for money?”