A Final Club wished to send one lucky punch a message; “gird your loins,” it said, for the best time you’ll ever have. The problem? They sent it to his father, the dean of Harvard Business School.
Rumor has it that the Fox Club asked a performance from their punches at their final dinner. One ended his Pussycat Dolls dance routine by pulling a two foot long black dildo from the fly of his pants. “You’ll never be a member of the Fox Club!” one geriatric alum cried. Quel loss.
Apparently two Matherites (one crazy, one stupid) are starting a renegade campaign to capture the top two spots on the U.C. Their platform is undecided, though rumor has it they spent four hours storyboarding their first promotional video, coming soon to a youtube near you.
We knew he could sing, but who knew that the Crimson’s diminutive biz honcho had moves too? He parlayed them on a small lady’s lap last Thursday post-Editorial Board happy hour.
Two Harvard girls from far off Mather House doubled their pleasure with identical twins this weekend, a senior at Harvard and his brother, from Brown. Wasn’t there a DoubleMint gum commercial that started that way?
An inebriated fellow at the Kong decided to empty his stomach all over the floor. After five good minutes of on and off spewing, his chagrined ladyfriend dragged him out, leaving the Kong staff to clean up the vomit.
Ground Zero got all set to throw a party on Saturday night, and rocked out until...12:30 a.m. Way to use that super-party grant, guys.
PfoHo Bell Tower had a rave this weekend, and went through the trouble of coating their walls with tin foil. They also passed out lots of glowsticks, including little ones to light up one’s mouth or cup of beer. Sanitary? No. Fluorescent? Hell yes.
