LowbrowNovember 18, 2010 at 3:56 am

Everything You Wanted To Know About Shoutouts But Were Too Afraid To Ask

While the holiday season is often thought to be about family, thankfulness and sharing, we at Street know better. This is the season of Shoutouts! This is the season to unleash the oodles of built up rage and hatred you have all bundled up inside against roommates, friends, professors, that fucking loud chewer in your econ recitation.

Let them have it! This is also the perfect forum to reveal your lusty obsession for that special someone. Chances are nothing is going to happen between you two, but at least the rest of us get to read about what a creep you are!

Shoutouts are anonymous and should be sent to shoutouts@34st.com by Sunday the 28th at noon.

An example of a bad shoutout:
To Carl Lublonsky: You look chubby in that shirt. Everybody thinks so. So there!

An example of a good shoutout:
To my best friend who stole my boyfriend:
You’re a fat slut, and you can’t spell. I hope your children are dyslexic and look like monkeys.


Be genuine. Say what you feel in your heart of hearts.
To the girl on Beige who gets lots of attention: That’s because you have big jugs. I mean, your boobs are huge. I mean, I wanna squeeze ‘em!

If you’re going to shout someone out, why not own up to it?
To the MERT whose bike I stole: Sorry. From, the jackass who ended up having to call you and get medical amnestied five minutes later.

Sometimes less is more.
To the football player who begged me to hold his dick while he peed: No.

Don’t do this:
To (person you know through some organization or class):
you can (double entendre related to that organization or class) anytime.

Say what we’re all thinking.
To the kids with names like Zshu-Liau who asked to be called Jen on the first day of class: If you’re not going to use Zshu-Liau, can I? A name like that shouldn’t go to waste.

Be as specific as possible.
To the only other person who’s had sex under the Button, on the Button, through a hole in the Button, on top of the Love sculpture, in the Blarney bathroom, at the top of 38th Street bridge, and on the 8th floor of Huntsman: What a fucking year. Happy Anniversary, baby!

It’s okay to be nice.
To my Chinese teacher: You’re the most precious person alive and we all secretly want to hug you.

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