“Hello. I have an anonymous tip. I’m disguising my voice to protect my identity. At 2:30 this morning this morning a student fractured his penis while giving himself a rubdown.”
-The kind of calls received at The Eagle office at 2:42 a.m. Later, the caller’s roommate called to report the caller had a “hand” in the job.
Midterms are here, and the acrid scent of desperation hangs as heavily in the air as the cologne on the euro-trash lounging about the periodicals rack. Library tables were chock-full of last-minute crammers Wednesday night, yet that didn’t stop two male students from having an inane, loud conversation somewhere in the N stacks: “Dude, yeah, tests suck.” Second-floor patrons were also serenaded by an intermittent cacophony of ringing cell phones. Only a mind addled by the sweet fumes of highlighter fluid could hear an electronic opera emerging from the din. Oh, the beauty and the pain!
Apparently inspired by the recent Daytona 500, a small gentleman in a champagne-colored Toyota was seen flooring his car onto the Quad, braking abruptly and reversing, all at a swift approximate 40 mph. After a quick sweep around the Kay Spiritual Life Center, he zoomed up the other side of the Quad, sending loiterers in front of the Mary Graydon Center scrambling for their lives. May a checkered flag never darken his dash.
Basic laws of human courtesy seemingly no longer apply to the new iPod owners on campus, who bore their Macintosh treasures back from Christmas and immediately adopted a code of stone-cold pomposity. Eye contact: OUT. Indignant sneers: IN. Clearly, non-iPod owners cannot understand the superior hotness of Usher in mp3 format. All this staffer has to say is, don’t hate on my scratched CD collection.
Even as sports teams are getting cut, tuition spiked up again, piercing the jugular of many intelligent students. AU Phonathon insiders report that alumni before 1990 pretty much hate AU, and those from the ‘90s are still paying for it. All of our problems would be solved if only we could get vengeful tennis players wielding rackets and irate golfers swinging clubs at past grads to scare up some cash.
The future was spotted by a few Scene staff members at the Tenleytown Metro stop. And it is awesome. A sprightly man in a large white helmet and red jumpsuit was standing at the top of the largest escalator, talking into a small cell phone. Outside the helmet. The man’s personal aesthetic basically screamed, “I come from the future and I’m here to party!” The year 2067 never looked so hot.