Hi.

 

An Open Letter to Anyone with Rich Parents: Bring Back Our Fucking Ice Rink

An Open Letter to Anyone with Rich Parents: Bring Back Our Fucking Ice Rink

Dear Trust Fund Babies,


Hey there.  We know you know who we are. We’ve seen you around campus before too, waiting in the Norbucks line with the common proletariat when you damn well could’ve gone to Brew Bike.  Ha ha! What a lark! If you’re feeling really into it, you might even don some non-designer apparel like a shirt from Free People or Zara to maximize your experience here at Northwestworld. But these violent delights have violent ends, pal, and if you don’t beg your old-money mom and dad to pay for the ice rink outside Norris, we are going to lose our shit right fucking now.

We don’t want to hear excuses. We know you don’t fly commercial.  We know you’re majoring in Journalism because it doesn’t matter what the fuck you do after you graduate.  We’ve seen your finsta posts about quote only going to the Alps over winter break endquote even though you commented on your freshman year roommate’s Instagram that you were sooooo jealous they were going to Breck for ski trip. We know, and we don’t care about any of that shit, because we secretly hope your parents will get us a job someday.  But if at the beginning of December, when the first notes of All I Want for Christmas is You play through the speakers by the Norris Dunkin Donuts, we don’t have our ice rink, oh baby - the timbs-wearing foot of the people will come crashing down. We’ll deny your Uber split on the way back from brunch in River North.  We’ll venmo request you $10 dollars for taking a sip from our $5 dollar bottle of Whole Foods wine. We’ll burn your Park Evanston studio apartment to the ground. We’ll overthrow Morty - and then all the railroad and rhubarb money in the world won’t get your little brothers and sisters into this shithole.

Does that make you nervous? Are you shaking in your Balenciaga sock booties? Don’t worry, friend. All it takes is one text to dear old mommy and daddy the fourth and all of this goes away. Don’t know how to pop the question? Considering the fact that you splurged on weekend tickets to the World Cup last year on a whim, you probably don’t even have to.  Toss that sucker at the end of your Christmas list. Better yet, withdraw the money yourself and tell your parents it was for emergency VIP passes to Coachella. If they find out, tell them it was for a good cause - skating on that blessed sheet of ice is basically the poor man’s CAPS anyway, and you can even put your family name on it if it makes you feel better. Therapy costs money. Rental skates at Norris cost $5.

We feel like our demands are reasonable. We know your spending habits aren’t.  Look down at your wrist. We couldn’t get to your timepiece for our countdown to D-Day but damn, that shit is icy. Maybe you can sell that to pay for our ice rink. Anyway, you get what we were going for. Tick-tock little Ryans and Pritzkers.  Tick-tock.

Sincerely,

The Revolution


 #TheResistance: Don’t Just Vote, Suppress the Vote of Your Grandparents

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Holy Shit: This Guy Sat on the Fence At a Tailgate

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