Gas the pre-frosh
I hate pre-frosh. They’re like locusts. They swarm in droves of thousands upon thousands, destroying crops and devouring Burger King as if their parents hadn’t fed them in three weeks. And like locusts, only a small fraction of them are feeding at any given moment, while the rest are buzzing around campus, getting caught in students’ hair, accosting professors on their way to class and splattering their high-school-educated brains all over my windshield.







