Hosting an annual pun battle judged by professors.
HOSTING AN ANNUAL PUN BATTLE JUDGED BY PROFESSORS.
Follow us for more dives into the traditions that shaped our Ivy years.
Remember those moments when the intense academic pressure momentarily lifted, replaced by something entirely absurd, yet utterly brilliant? For many of us, that was the annual pun battle, a tradition often tucked away in a dimly lit common room or a slightly too formal departmental lounge. It was more than just a competition; it was an intellectual release, a testament to our collective wit and our capacity for high-brow silliness.
The stakes felt surprisingly high. We’d spend weeks, sometimes months, hoarding mental archives of groan-worthy wordplay, waiting for that one perfect moment to unleash a pun so sophisticated, so cleverly crafted, it would make even the most stone-faced Lit professor crack a smile. And yes, professors judged. Imagine your esteemed philosophy professor, usually pontificating on existentialism, now meticulously scoring a pun about a bicycle that’s "two tired." It was glorious.
This wasn't just about winning; it was about shared experience. It was about seeing the brilliant minds around you, and even your revered faculty, drop their guard and engage in pure, unadulterated fun. These departmental rituals, these quirky club gatherings, they weren't just distractions; they were the fabric of our community, etching indelible memories that often outlasted the most complex theorems. They reminded us that even in the pursuit of knowledge, there's always room for a good, bad pun.
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