The Grad Wreckage is still pouring in, and here I'm rapidly running out of snappy titles. Drat.

In higher education, time loses all meaning.

See? Even the footstool-wearing stomach-cloud knows "that".

Congrats "class" of "09"?
Looks like someone couldn't take the quotation mark abuse anymore and decided to teach that cake a lesson. It kind of worked, too; it's much harder to notice the quotes now.
And speaking of hard-to-read cakes, there
oughta be a law against squiggles that look like words:

Elle? Ollie? Edie? Why does the confetti look like writing, and the diploma scroll look like a
Seuss hat? Especially when everyone knows you're
supposed to make them look like
Swiss Rolls, like this?
(Wreckerators, some day you and I need to have a chat about curly ribbon.)
And you thought
your senior prom was awkward.
David R., Anony, Judi I., Jenny T., Kristin L., Sarah F., & Steph H., way to "go"!
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