The weekly student newspaper of Bucknell University

The Bucknellian

The weekly student newspaper of Bucknell University

The Bucknellian

The weekly student newspaper of Bucknell University

The Bucknellian

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From the mind of Wiley Jack: Senioritis

Jack Wiles

Columnist

And so it begins. I have the life of a second semester senior and those idiots with The Bucknellian decided to give me a column. The only people that may read this are our lovely Dining Services staff. They care about me–I’m always offered pickles. Who else would care about what I have to say? For those who do happen to read this, I’ll start with a few things to set the stage about me, being quite blunt: I don’t understand many things about society, my mind is silly at best and I still, and will always, find poop jokes funny. Now, with introductions aside, let us examine a day in the life of a second semester senior.

I wake up, super dehydrated, wearing the same clothes I had on from last night with a smiley face drawn with mud on my shirt. I look at the clock: 12:04 p.m. Damn, I missed lunch. No worries, I’ll either eat a double dinner or go to Taco Bell where I can stuff my face for $3.21 (with tax, of course). Next, I take a lengthy amount of time in the bathroom as I’m moving quite sluggishly. When I’m on the john, I notice that I spent far too much money at the bar last night. I was there? Who was I even with? Oh well, that’s beyond the point. It was obviously fun. After consuming copious amounts of Taco Bell, it is time for me to attend class. Wait, who am I kiddin’? I under-loaded this semester, so there’s no chance I have class on Thursday! “Silly Wiles …” I say aloud to myself.

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The next few hours vary individually, depending on personal traits and interests. This is typically the time where I’ll watch a Mitch Hedberg stand-up special, go thrifting, shoot bottle rockets at a squirrel or think about the possibility that giant squids will one day take over the world. Dinner happened at some point in all of that. Other people may do school work or go to the gym, but I figure that I can do the first option some other time.

The next thing I remember goes something like this: I wake up, super dehydrated, but this time I’m naked with a few “veiny triumphant bastards” etched all over my face. I look at the clock, 2:31 p.m. Damn, I missed lunch, and all of my classes, and an exam. I will never drink. Never … ever … again.

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