Freshman Realizes Deep Hatred of Roommate

Pictured: The freshman on move-in day, in happier times.

Evanston, Il.- Upon listening to his roommate loudly Skype with his best friend at Cornell for two hours while he was trying to study, Weinberg Freshman Mark Ellis discovered that he actually never liked his roommate.

“He is just a real piece of trash,” Ellis said after coming to terms with his realization. Ellis’s discovery comes after nearly seven months of attempting to be his roommate’s, Medill Freshman Brandon Ruiz’s, best friend.

“All he does is eat Wings Over while playing

Northwestern Shuttle Missing for Ten Days; Found in Lake Michigan

Pictured: the approximate search area for the missing bus.

EVANSTON, IL – A bus along Sheridan containing a full load of zero passengers recently disappeared from campus. After ten days of intense lounging-about, authorities announced that they believe the bus was driven into Lake Michigan.

“Once we finally left the police station, we noticed the bus sized holes through Kellogg and the Main Library. Honestly, at first we assumed this was just the typical decrepit state of the campus buildings, but after following the trail through Einstein’s and Core 1N we noticed a bus-like-object face down in the lake” explained Head of Campus Police Ross Sweet.

Medill sophomore Tiffany Jenkinson pointed to the SGA’s failings: “If only we had spent our 10K on black box program for the buses, we would have more complete record of what exactly happened; the debris, tire tracks, and witnesses just can’t paint the same picture as an audio recording of the deafening silence as the empty bus plunged into the depths of Lake Michigan.”

Guest Column: Women Should Not Be Judged Only by Their Attractiveness, Personality, Intelligence, Past Accomplishments, and Overall Moral Character

By Ella di Mancuso (Medill ’16)

Alright, Northwestern; we need to have a serious talk.

There’s a problem on this campus, and it’s not just the polar vortexes or the fact that Dunkin’ Donuts still doesn’t exist yet.  It’s not a problem everyone has – only about half of the students at Northwestern have experienced it.  I’ve had friends that have experienced it.  I’ve seen people on Sheridan and in Norris that have experienced it.  I’ve experienced it.  And unless we address this issue now, unless we change the culture of this campus, people are going to keep experiencing it.

Guys, seriously: Stop judging a female student only by her good looks and personal skills and grades and student group involvement and overall common sense and list of accomplishments and whether she is actually a good person or not.

It’s a problem that’s quickly spiraling out of control, and all you have to do is

Journalism Student Writes Article Defending Millennials While Vigorously Masturbating

Timothy, enjoying a chubby just thinking about the awareness raised by the #StopKony campaign.

EVANSTON, Ill. – While penning an opinion piece about why the generation of Americans aged 18-30 is in fact one of the hardest-working and most intelligent generations this country has ever seen, Northwestern student Timothy DeVaine (Medill, ’15) could not help but start tugging on his penis in a furious and fast-paced motion until he successfully reached orgasm.

Sources confirmed that DeVaine was not initially that excited as he typed the first paragraph of the piece on his Macbook Air, gifted to him by his parents in honor of his 3.4 cumulative GPA last year, a paragraph which read, “They’re self-absorbed.  They expect a reward for every little thing they do. 

The Daily Terror of a Medilldo in 301

9:00 Wake up. Think to yourself, why didn’t I try to be a doctor instead.

9:45 Leave for the Davis Street Station. Glare at happy-looking people.

9:58 Arrive at the El. The smell of cat pee is now associated with broken dreams.

10:15 After train stalls for three four five minutes, arrive at Howard

The Daily Northwestern’s First Online Posts Will Make You LOL

The Daily Northwestern is known as the primary news source of the student population of Chicago’s Big Ten Team. For every fucksaw, race forum and football game lost in the last minutes of the fourth quarter, the Daily Northwestern time and time again is the first one of the first sites visited by truth-thirsty college students. Thanks to a tip from the Infinite Guest, we have some awesome throwback articles from when the Daily first got online.

Sherman Ave Freshman Guide: Medill

McTrib, where only 14% of journalism students shrivel up and die annually.

“Hi, I’m a journalism student at Northwestern and I’m working on a story about ______.” Memorize those words. They will constitute the beginnings of probably like 80% of your class-related conversations for the next four years. Or something. I’m not sure, I didn’t like fact-check that claim or anything. In fact, this might be a good time to discuss Medill F’s and factual errors… nah, we’ll hold off on that. First,

Hundreds of Professors Gather To Coordinate Midterm Dates

EVANSTON– More than 200 professors from all six schools at Northwestern University met this morning in an annual summit dedicated to scheduling midterms in a way that most frustrates and inconveniences undergraduate students, sources report.

The meeting, which was held in the Norris Student Center’s Louis Room, was called to order at 9:02 am by President Morton Schapiro.  Schapiro started off with a few opening remarks about the importance of this annual convention, and what it means to the community.

“I greatly appreciate each and every one of you taking time out of your busy schedules to come gather here on this momentous occasion,” said Schapiro. “Without your time and dedication, we would be forced to schedule midterms independently, and that would almost ensure that students would have midterms days, even weeks apart.  And what’s worse, their midterms could be at reasonable times and accessible places.”

Sherman Ave Freshman Guide: Res College Power Rankings

Well camouflaged into the surrounding sorority habitat.

Residential Colleges at Northwestern are designed to enrich the intellectual, cultural, and social lives of their students by extending the learning environment from the classroom to extracurricular life. Essentially, a res college is a dorm filled with like-minded nerds and future friends you’ll spend the next couple of years drinking, arguing, and (for the truly venturous souls) hooking upwith.

50 Shades of Purple, Chapter One

For Morty, the master of my universe

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair — it just won’t behave, and damn that Beverly Brooke for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. Ugh. FML. I’m suuuuch a Medilldo.

I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. That’s what she said. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.

Beave is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-brill-brill engineer I’ve never heard of, for The Daily. So I have volunteered. I have finals to complain about, one 500-word article to fabricate, but no — today I have to walk all the way from Pi Phi all the way up to fucking Slivka in order to meet this enigmatic nerd. As an exceptional engineer and son of major Northwestern benefactors, his time is extraordinarily precious — much more precious than mine — but he has granted Beave an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities. What is ASG anyways?

“Does, like, vodka and gatorade get rid of the flu?” Beverly asks.

“Sure it does. It’s a disinfectant,” I answer.

Gathering my Steve Madden bag, I smile at her and head out the door. She’ll make an exceptional journalist for Chillicothe Times-Bulletin one day. She’s got talent.

———————————————————

I knock on the door in Slivka. It slowly opens as a tremendous cloud of weed-smoke funnels out.

“Mr. Packingham is out at the moment,” says my interviewee’s roommate, a man who presumably served two years in the Singapore army and is double-majoring in chemistry and K-Pop Studies. “But feel free to come in.”

I check out Packingham’s room. It looks like a cross between an adolescent’s wet dream and Charlie Sheen’s Tuesday morning. Kate Upton and Pippa Middleton adorn walls streaked with what I can only assume is Dmitri vodka and CVS Gold Brand grape soda. An exotic aroma hits my nose, an exquisite fusion of BK, Busch Light, and man musk. Must be a Comm major. I think I need to sit down.

And then, a man enters.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for a Beave. Have you seen one?”

Oh God. Packingham’s a tool. He’s smiling like a Freshman who just got into The Keg.

“Um. Actually–” I mutter. But such a handsome tool.

“Miss Brooke is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Packingham.” Eyes like Bill Murray. Complexion like Drake. Body like John Shurna. And, most importantly, a beard like Morty’s.

“And you are?” His voice is warm, possibly amused, definitely slurred a bit. I can’t help but notice the portable beer pong table near his bed.

“Carla Rossi. I’m studying magazine journalism with Beave, um… Miss Brooke in Medill.”

“I see,” he says simply. I can’t help but notice he’s wearing a Sig Nu hoodie. That’s… unexpected.

“Would you like to sit?” He waves me toward a green bean bag chair prominently featuring several suspicious stains.

“I have some questions for you,” I say, catching him looking down my shirt.

“I though you might Carla,” he deadpans.

“Well, let’s get started. I’d like to know what you make of allegations that your father’s donations are the reason Northwestern starts so ungodly late in the calendar year.”

“Bullshit,” Packingham replies.

“Okay, how about suggestions that you once banged Mayor Tisdahl on the roof of Swift?” I try.

“I wish,” the swashbuckling sultan of swag replies.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Butter them up with some puff questions. Medill’s taught me well.

“You know, the usual. Chill with my bros. Drunken Sporcle. Skinny dipping in Lake Michigan with my biddies. Hey Carla, did you know that I’m the reason Selena Gomez decided against becoming a Wildcat? Let’s just say she’s no big fan of the hot cookie bar, if you know what I mean. How about you?”

“Me!?” I ask, surprised. “I mostly complain about how sketch the el is on my way to my internship. I just love the city.”

He smiles, seeming to sense something flutter inside me. Shit! Could he possibly have realized that I can name all 151 original Pokémon in alphabetical order? I thought I had kept that hidden since the Kappa rush debacle of 2011.

“Fine. Last question. Can you comment on the prevailing rumors that you are the man responsible for the invention of the fucksaw—”

“I can’t comment on pending litigation,” he cuts me off, quicker than I awkwardly end conversations on Sheridan.

“Dude, want to play the National Treasure 2 drinking game?” His roommate interrupts.

“Yes, yes I do,” he answers. “Carla,” he says as a farewell.

“Ross,” I reply. And the door, Adele poster and all, comes to a close.