Tuesday, 4:30 p.m.
Help, I’m trapped in a cell phone factory and you are the only number I know.
Monday, 8:49 p.m.
Hey Rings, I just heard someone say they didn’t remember what sex felt like.
Friday 11:07 a.m.
Dear Rings, Here’s a good one. I am in the mac lab in the college of science building and someone in the front row is watching porn?
Friday 10:16 p.m.
I just saw a group of mother [flippin’-floppin’] people doing the cupid shuffle in the Infinity Quad. Makes me remember why I go to RIT.
Saturday, 7:26 p.m.
It would really suck for a stripper to have to get a mastectomy. That’s like, all her job security gone.
Saturday, 11:14 p.m.
My math teacher came into class saying that she was feeling kinda funny because she was taking a whole bunch of Benadryl. Now, I don’t know about you, but integrals were a whole lot more fun when she was [straight-up] ‘scoobin on Benadryl. So, take that for what it’s worth.
Monday, 7:11 a.m.
Hey Rings, do you know what gay horses eat? ... haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
Sunday, 4:30 p.m.
Dear Rings, If you stop calling fraternities “frat,” then they’ll only have their piss-poor grades to bitch about.
Wednesday, 11:22 p.m.
After three years of classes, our consensus is that engineering just comes down to black magic, puppies and rainbows.
Monday, 4:15 p.m.
When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail...in bed.