Taking finals at a research university means being tested on a lot of crap that your professor never got a around to teaching.
They never got around to teaching it because they were busy doing research that will one day be published in books and not taught to other classes of students by research professors who test them on it anyways.
God, I love college.
This week’s forecast: Sharpen your pencils. It’s not over ’till you misgrid your last Scantron.
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“dusty rusty crusty musty ass california hills”
“frowning in plaid (haunted radios, bird bones + anthropomorphized wind)”
“warming my hands on bridges i’ve burnt”
“songs that make me see god”
“My Playlist #236”
“classy wine moment and intellectual conversation”
“90s heroin chic model off duty”
“tweet tweet bird emoji map emoji”
“not my circus, not my monkeys”
“a grave is probably cheaper than an apartment”
“ATE THESE BITCHES LEFT NO CRUMBS / DID IT IN DESIGNER PUMPS”
