Members of the Phillips household disclosed yesterday that first lady Michelle Obama was spotted methodically grazing the skin of her neck with the point a full-sized carrot while staring with wide, unwavering eyes at Thomas Phillips, age 9, as he reached for a Pepsi Cola.
Looking for a top-line quarterback that could add a bit of grit and experience to a unit that was already clicking as an offense, Islamic militants made the first big-name move in the lead up to yesterday’s Al Qaeda trade deadline.
“The way Brady plays the game is something we wanted to try to add, something we identified,” Al Qaeda General Manager Mokhtar Belmokhtar stated.
At approximately 9:00 p.m. yesterday, California resident Rachel Jenkins was sighted covertly leaving an industrial campus in a Mercedes Benz, a gesture that witnesses believe is an indication of her harrowing job addiction.
“I once walked in on her working as the CEO of a large, successful corporation,” stated her older brother, Stanley Jenkins.
According to a mental correspondence between Father Grant Boyle and the Almighty Spirit, Boyle totally fucking knew two weeks ago that Christina Armstrong’s sultry stares down the aisle at Fredrick Quinn meant something more than either of them were letting on.
At approximately 4:00 a.m. PST, “The Comedy Central Roast of Robin Williams, Sponsored by Robin Williams,” premiered to wild applause from Robin Williams in the performer’s famed Los Angeles pantry.
“Seriously, this Robin Williams man should be the head of the support group ‘creepy white guys anonymous,’” stated Williams, speaking into a microphone plugged into a low-lying outlet in the pitch-black enclosure.
In a highly anticipated move by the National Hockey League last week, professional ice rinks will now be required to replace all current open-air penalty boxes with electric superpenalty boxes nestled deep in the Earth’s molten core.
“The mineshaft elevator typically takes about 30 minutes to travel from the ice to the submerged punishment bunker,” stated NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman.
At approximately 6 a.m., Providence resident Franklin Porter found himself driving behind a sweaty, slow-moving sack of pity, and reportedly considered doing the struggling man a favor.
“He looks like he’s going to go into cardiac arrest regardless of what I do,” thought Porter, tightening his hands around the wheel.
The angry driver currently rolling down his driver’s seat window to slowly amplify his yelling will get out of his 1997 Toyota Camry and come over there, don’t think he won’t. The middle-aged man in question reportedly has a beef to pick with the way you drive, because if people like you are going to have to share the road, they better damn well learn to use their blinker.
The photographic memory of Pleasant View Elementary School student Johnny Garfield, an accidental witness to three grisly area murders, has been little-to-no help at identifying the lone suspect. Providence Police attribute his lack of helpful information to Garfield not having his eyes open during any of the good murders.
Esteemed physicists, scholars, alchemists and blood-letters: Welcome, one and all, to the pinnacle of discovery. After the final drop of pheasant’s blood and one last crank to the gears, I was unsure whether the world would even exist in the year 2012.
High school student Nazim Azmeh was delighted yesterday when he was finally able to buckle down, unplug his social media sites, and finally get some real work done after the Assad Regime assisted youth nationwide by cutting Syria’s internet access.
With 30 seconds left on the clock, quarterback Tom Brady on the 10-yard line and the Patriots three points down, Coach Bill Belichick pulled out a totally unrelatable play involving a thin, fragile stick figure Tom Brady chasing a long, squiggly arrow into the end zone.
Hannah, babe, don’t look at me that way. You know it kills me when you look at me that way. We’ve been over this before, and we both knew this day had to come. I just want to make sure we’re clear, though—it’s not you, it’s this breakup song I need to write.
When Christina Johnston, 26, first enrolled in the University of Phoenix, a for-profit university wholly owned by Apollo Group Inc., back in 2010, she did not expect that her nursing degree would give her the chance to provide her two young daughters with opportunities she never dreamed possible.
Last Sunday at 5 a.m., Khalid Farouki, 31, rushed into his sons’ room, shook them awake and hurriedly snuck them out of the house to watch his neighborhood’s weekly airstrike show—a local tradition for the whole family to enjoy.
At 12:30 p.m., Timothy Cooper, age 6, and his new stepmother, Shelly Hamilton-Cooper, buried his recently deceased pet fish in Hamilton-Cooper’s second pack of empty cigarettes of the day.
“I was sad at first that my fish was gone,” stated Timothy, next to the tiny mound of dirt with a post-it stuck to a wine cork reading “RIP Fish” acting as a tomb stone.
Hey now, you have no reason to look at me like that, okay? My internship was just like everyone else’s summer internship, I swear I’m not trying to brag. I, just like you, just like Mark, and just like every other shoe-licking intern on the planet, was stuck doing the menial labor that no one else in our respective companies wanted to do.
The latest addition to Brown’s recreational facilities is by far its most luxurious yet, as indicated by the Nelson Fitness Center’s requirement to present a valid student ID and valid full tuxedo to an attendant upon entrance.
“It’s great we require both photo IDs and tuxedos in here, since I wouldn’t want just anyone to be able to sneak in,” said Jackie Henderson ’13, running on the elliptical while two butlers calmly held the train of her silk ball gown.
After an orientation filled with waving awkwardly at girls in his dormitory, standing silently on the outside of multiple circles of students at the ice cream social, and getting zero responses to his mass hangout text messages, Thomas Moore ’16 had nothing to comfort him Friday night but his recently purchased poster of a baby doing a kegstand.
Oh dear God, according to multiple reports received about two minutes ago on highway I-95, area mother Karen Quinn will pull this goddamn minivan over immediately, just “effing” watch her. Witnesses silently confirmed that Quinn, the owner of the vehicle and passengers in question, refuses to take any more bull from the car seat area, and will do whatever the hell it takes to make herself perfectly clear.
Pamela Armstrong ’12, sitting in her throne made of gold coins and eating her money sandwich, cannot understand in the slightest why you are concerned about being thrown into the cold, unforgiving, gold-plated arms of real life.
“Seriously, don’t be so dramatic about life after college,” she said, lighting a cigar made entirely of dollar bills.
Although Alan Jenkins ’13 is convinced that he is different from all of his friends because he is a test tube baby, his mother was determined yesterday to let him know that his fragile, 25 mL glass body has nothing to do with it.
“Alan is no different from his friends because my husband and I did not conceive him in a traditional manner,” stated Phoebe Jenkins, “or because we bought him from a chemist.
When Herman Freeman woke up on the morning of his 75th birthday, he knew in his heart that he needed to do something to feel more alive. Thus, according to friends and family, he grabbed his wallet, checked into the nearest sleazy hospital room he could find and in one day blew his entire life savings on chemotherapy in a crazy end-of-life crisis.
20 Brown seniors will spend the next two years of their post-graduate life working with Teach for Self Promotion, a program that strives to eliminate educational inequality by allowing participants to impress employers with their extensive charity work.
The adorably emotional man in the movie theater next to Alison James ’13 kept trying to pass off his tears as a knife wound to the eye during their favorite historical drama.
“No, honey, it’s not a big deal,” Cameron Stein ’12 said, holding back sobs and gripping his left eye.
Leah Johnson ’12, Francesca Jun ’13 and Dana Sanchez ’12 were simultaneously transported to Rhode Island Hospital last night after attending a dinner party where their host, Janet Green ’12, forgot to ask all three of her guests if they were severely allergic to poison.
The professor who assigned you two ten-page essays, a lab report, three-weeks worth of problem sets and a take-home midterm all due on the same day has no idea you’re enrolled in classes other than the one he’s teaching.
Yesterday, after taking a power nap and consuming a power bar, Sally Garfield ’14 power tripped while power walking to class. She reportedly power flew through the air and power landed on her face on the pavement, rendering herself power-unconscious.
It was confirmed yesterday that the little people labor camp run by an obese reindeer breeder at the North Pole is real and not a farfetched story your mother used to tell you when you were a child.
“I knew it, I knew he was real,” smiled Little Timmy, revealing two missing front teeth.
That one asshole in your Introduction to Environmental Science class who keeps asking obnoxious questions, talking over everyone else in the class and finishing the tests an hour before everyone else thinks he’s so fucking smart just because he’s your professor.
It was reported last week that college females spend, on average, a ton of time perfecting their makeup before socializing. Their alleged focuses include reducing skin marks with cream stuff, emphasizing lips with a lip pencil and changing eye-shape with a different pencil — details that really pay off when men don’t notice.
I have 50 minutes at 9 a.m. tomorrow to prove that I’m comfortable with everything I’ve learned during the past few weeks about my ex, and I’m so behind on stalking it’s ridiculous. Maybe I should close Facebook and take a quick peek at my anatomy textbook?
Last Sunday, it was reported that Keeney resident Ross O’Neal ‘15 woke up to breakfast in bed. However, as O’Neal remained hungry for love that morning, the Cereal from the preceding night did not return the sentiment.
Perkins resident Marshall Reynolds ’15 was quick this week to inform acquaintances of the tight-knit nature of his tight-knit residential community.
“Did you know that 50 percent of all Brown marriages are between tight-knit Perkins residents? If that’s not tight-knit, I don’t know what is,” said Reynolds as he reached out and grabbed the hands of two of his hall mates.
The most passionate rescue mission in Brown's recent history occurred yesterday when Fluffy, a fifteen-pound tabby, fell into a manhole at the Metcalf construction site. "Our first priority is to get Fluffy out of the manhole and back up to safety," stated contractor Frankie Francisco, speaking over the loud wolf-whistles his team was aiming at the manhole.
"You suck!" shouted Providence resident Tommy Jones as he threw an empty milk carton at his recently-earned first grade diploma. After a year of grueling spelling tests and times tables, Tommy's dreams of being an astronaut were crushed last Monday when his mother, Carla Jones, placed a dream catcher over his bed.
Despite Jane Conrad's '14 demanding work schedule, Sandra Walters '14 says her friend is always excited to hear about her relationship. Even during the past two months, while Walters and her boyfriend have gone through periods of turmoil, Conrad has always been there to remove a noise-cancelling headphone, scowl, and lend an ear.
Inspired by mutual aversion to alcohol and a general lack of friendship, a group of undergraduates is pursuing a group independent study project intended to "lay the groundwork for potential research on how to make friends by starting a Group Independent Study Project," according to Gretchen Lopez '13, the student leading the effort.
As No Shave November comes to a close, the annual tradition of No Laid December is coming to fruition. For a sizable group of bearded Brunonians, December marks an abundance of jolly "Ho Ho Ho's" but a dearth of naughty "Oh Oh Oh's."
As a member of this university, and as an esteemed faculty
member no less, it is my foremost responsibility to shape up and stop sleeping
through my 9 a.m. classes.
"Well 'ello there, guvnah," bellowed an enthused Patrick Horton '14. Sir Horton, a bright-eyed youth, stood clad in a freshly ironed suit, a top hat, and a glistening monocle. He hails from "er. London, yes, London!", England, and plans to concentrate in "why, English, naturally." His classmates, however, believe he should instead "concentrate on changing his fake English accent, because he sounds like a bloody twat."
"Toodle pip," "tally ho," and "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" are among the many phrases that Horton regularly bellows at various orientation events.
"It started with a fist.
After a summer the two spent apart, Alfie Moggle '12 sauntered towards Rick Dipley '12 on the Main Green and extended his fist. Dipley's face turned solemn and he grabbed the fist with his right hand, yanking it in an arc.
The best stuff on earth may have just turned bitter.
Snapple, the worlds leading distributor of useless knowledge, and occasional distributor of colored sugar water, has managed to ensnare itself in a heated brawl with Nantucket Nectars.
Snapple CEO Rafael Rodriguez allegedly became enraged when he discovered that Nantucket Nectars began printing facts about their quaint, 47.
Kevin Kaplan '10 stands tall and proud in front of his full-length mirror, staring himself resolutely in the eye. His graduation cap is crisp, his robe is fluid, and his bright red spandex unitard is blinding. Yes, Kaplan is clad in a unitard. Is he going through an identity crisis? Does he like the squeeze in all the right places? No, Kevin Kaplan is a super senior.
Providence resident Sahil Modi was no stranger to the walk of shame. As a self-proclaimed people-watcher and a court-proclaimed stalker, he had seen it all before. Until now.
The reason? A high-speed sprint of shame.
It was reported that on Feb 15th, at approximately 9:32 A.
Last Tuesday morning at approximately 1:30 p.m., Jeremy Holdem '12 reported a disturbing incident to the Brown University Emergency Hotline: his bike lock had been stolen, and with it, his soul.
"Of all the things they could have taken - my collection of vintage troll dolls, my kidneys, my bike - they stole my bike lock? Those heartless bastards.