Freshman Accidentally Sets Curve After Thinking Test Was ‘Just Practice’
Chaos erupted in Honors Bio after a freshman mistook the midterm for “warm-up questions” and accidentally wrecked the grading curve for everyone else.
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Columns. Hearsay. Manalogue. College chaos. High school headlines. If it sounds personal or true, it probably is.
Chaos erupted in Honors Bio after a freshman mistook the midterm for “warm-up questions” and accidentally wrecked the grading curve for everyone else.
A sophomore’s digital pep talk spiraled into a disciplinary crackdown after students began feeling mildly better about themselves.
Citing budget cuts and “vibe-based student feedback,” a major university has launched a bold initiative: assigning each freshman an “Emotional Support Friend.” No credentials, no training — just someone with Spotify Premium and a vague interest in your wellbeing.
In an exclusive sit-down with Chaz Blamington, America’s favorite maybe-couple answers the question on everyone’s feed: Are they dating, acting, or just in a longform branded campaign for Gen Z affection? The results were romantic, confusing, and allegedly unscripted.
Kara Conforman sits down with MrBeast to discuss wealth, copycats, corporate chaos, and whether generosity can be algorithmically monetized. He explains the Beast Games lawsuit, flirts with politics, and denies ever feeding anyone only celery. Kind of.
I got my life together, and now everyone assumes I’ve joined a cult or pyramid scheme. Honestly, they’re not wrong — it’s called “hydration and boundaries.”
I’ve never been the best in the room — just the most committed to refusing to leave it. I succeed by outlasting people with boundaries.
Yes, I saw your text. I even rehearsed a reply in three emotional dialects. Then I floated into the ceiling like an emotionally unavailable Roomba.
No emails. No calls. No decisions to make. Just me, a lawn chair, and the raw, unsupervised freedom of temporary irrelevance.
No destination. No playlist. Just road noise, bottled water, and the faint hope that movement still counts as progress.
It wasn’t always fists. Sometimes it was silence, or jokes that hit just hard enough to make you close the door again.
She blinked twice and somehow read a 12-page PDF of my suppressed feelings. I just wanted chips.