He raised his arms and wept as if the scoreboard had rewritten his biography, the orange H on his scarf staring back like a silent juror.
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That awkward moment when the credits have more plot than the entire movie.
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That hair is the only thing with a personality here.
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Literally curated the worst excuses to breed evolution's nightmare.
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Perched upon his cushion, he has the look of a witness to gravity's sudden lapse.
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could actually taste the gpa drop through my eyes
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That face you make when you fake laugh at bad gossip.
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Final-boss energy for bedtime.
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Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing except me.
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Everyone is pretending they know what they’re doing.
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You’re the glass building, all reflection, no substance.
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Your look says philosopher, but your vibe is nap enthusiast.
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