I love Love LOVE Campus Times so much! It’s imperative that you experience the joys CT brings to your life — that is, if you can even consider your existence a “life” at all without Campus Times. It’s gotten me through the toughest days and nights of my life. 

Before Campus Times, my life was a dead end. It was dark and confined; I didn’t know the way. I didn’t see the light. I didn’t live. At least, not until that fateful day when I was introduced to Campus Times. It found me in the depths of my despair. Campus Times descended from the heavens as it shined brightly, lighting up the dark corners of my dismal prison cell. Holy trumpets sounded as CT descended into my feeble grasp and changed my life forever. It showed me the way, and the light. It showed me life. 

Now, I’m spreading the gospel of Campus Times. The rejuvenating, invigorating properties of CT of which we all crave. You need to try it. Your life will be changed forever. Once you experience the glory of Campus Times, you’ll find yourself perpetually in need of more. Every issue will be your saving grace, descending from the heavens to remind you of your purpose in life, the euphoria lasting just long enough to stagger onwards until the next publication. Every issue will cure all things. Every issue will release more dopamine than methamphetamine and some more.

Campus Times is everything, man. You gotta believe me. Trust me on this one. Everything is Campus Times. I eat, breath, and sleep Campus Times. Soon, everyone will need it to live. Everyone will know of the magical, mythical Campus Times. It’s already everywhere. It’s too late. It’s your classes. It’s in your dorms. It’s in your food. It’s in your fridge. It’s under your bed. It’s in your bed. It’s watching. It’s waiting. It knows. Though Campus Times everything will be okay.



Christmas has gone too far

People should look to other cultures to learn the truth of the cliche that holidays are about more than just gifts. 

America hates its children

I feel exhausted whenever I hear conservatives fall upon the mindlessly affective “think of the children” defense of their barbarous proposals for school curriculums and general social regressivism.

Please stop messing with my pants

It started off with small things. One morning, the cuffs of my pants were slightly shorter, almost imperceptibly so.