To the food ladies at Commons: It’s finally December. Time to shave the beards!
To the girl who called me “just a bitch tryna get cocaine”: I’d rather be a bitch tryna get cocaine than a bitch tryna get dick at TEP.
To Montana gay: You’re with a new boy almost every weekend. You realize this isn’t Brokeback Mountain?
To the Pi Lam who wasn’t into it when I asked him to explain Nietzsche to me while I went down on him: I was only, like, just trying to be ironic, man. Because normally blow jobs are sooo mainstream.
To my housemates: I leave the door open while I shower so you can come in and brush your teeth, not drop a deuce and leave.
To my history professor: You remind me of a Spanish version of Hugh Grant and I love your sweaters.
To my Econ TA: I’m pretty sure you don’t play for my team but, just in case, I’m the same person that wrote “You’re cute!” at the bottom of your evaluation sheet.
To the self–proclaimed chicabitch: Tu eres loca. No mas cocaina para ti.
To the people in my Japanese class that already speak Japanese and have anime swoopy swoop hair: (T_T)
To the girl that tripped down the stairs just to get up and fall down again: Third time’s a charm.
To the freshman who faked being from London for two months: We could have had it allllllll, rolling in the deeeeeeppppp.
To the girl at Pottruck wearing her sorority shorts and an Alcoholics Anonymous T-shirt: Sucks that Letter Day and AA meetings are both on Thursdays.
To the ChiO junior who thinks everyone is her friend: Sex does not mean friendship. Sorry Catholic school confused you.
To the engineer I’m avoiding: I’m avoiding you.
To the Masti John Travolta I met on Halloween: Next time, try to last longer than Grease Lightning.
To the freshman I fucked while blackout: Sorry your first threesome was with me and my Aunt Flow.
To the stranger who ran into my class screaming, “Cutest dog ever,” waving a picture of my dog: Wait, WHY do you have a picture of my dog? That’s mah bitch.
To the kitchen staff at Tap House: For the millionth time, no, I will not watch you masturbate in the back room.
To the GA who did coke and then snorted tequila “to get all the residue”: You missed a spot.[Ed. Note: Have you met chicabitch?]
To the girl who gave me a blood clot instead of a hickey: You suck.
To the guy who put his number in my phone as “Cute Giy From Lasy Nigh”: You aren’t.
To the Theta I thought I judged too quickly: Thanks for proving me right when you told me that granola bar was all you’d eaten in 48 hours.
To Penn’s most old–fashioned dresser: Neither your tweed jacket nor your pipe is healthy for you… or your sex life.
To Penn Students for Christ: Thanks for bringing God back to this campus, and my heart. <3
To my boyfriend who cheated on me with strangers online: Hope she enjoys your 3–inch floppy more than I did.
To our BFF breaking up with her amazing boyfriend: We like him better than you.
To people who go to Pottruck just to get smoothies: Just being in the gym doesn’t burn calories.
To the, um, AXO chica in my, like, es-pan-YOLE class-ey: You, um, have a, like, bad-o accent-o. Like, ay Dios mío.
To my freshman year KCECH hallmate: Sorry your girlfriend likes my kosher beef more than she liked your Chinese noodle.
To the “Copy of the paper?” girl on College Green: How about a copy of my foot up your ass?
To the AEPi brother next door: You have a great package and a cute ass. We know this because you’ve masturbated in front of our entire house. Twice. Good call skimping on the blinds.
To Locust Walk light up balls: Congratulations on making me more excited than any other balls I’ve seen at Penn.
To my stoner RA: Sharing is caring.
To the cultured chipmunk-faced Friar: Maybe if your tongue wasn’t constantly plastered against the buttholes of drunk freshmen you wouldn’t be so full of shit.
To Insomnia Cookies: $1.25? Really?
To my TA in Medical Anthropology: Your love is my drug.
To the junior in Theos who refused to eat me out: Screaming “It’s not like I’m gay or anything!” after looking at my pussy doesn’t really help your case.
To the midget who STILL wants to fuck my man: Just because I’m abroad doesn’t mean he’s started fucking midgets, OKAY?!
To the girl who sits in Capo stalking a certain Radian window: As a Theta, you should understand the concept of “the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”
To the girl whose Facebook photos I jerk off to: I’m glad we finally met in person. You just gave me so much more material.
To the perpetually barefoot guy googling porn in my LPS class: Cool it. Even neck tattoo man and girl who eats her hair are judging you.
To AEPi: Having two Canadians does not make you international enough to play that much house music.
To the snobby girl who asks for a non–fatsugarfreewhatevercappuccino and can’t get off her phone to order: I put whole milk in your drink.
To my alien roommate: Be Boop Beep Beep Boop.
To SDT: Please wear name tags so I can tell you apart.
To that bitch with the face: You know who you are.
To the UA: The trick is, you have to call it “New Member Education.” –IFC
To Beta: How awkward is it pretending to like Rossman?
To the Phi Psi bro who uses his tiny dog to get girls: Down, boy!
To DJ Sexybeats: Congratulations! I never thought I’d find a DJ worse than Dosage.
To DJ Dosage: Congratulations! I never thought I’d find a DJ worse than TEGA.
To the AXO who got laid at her philanthropy event: Was he actually a BMOC?
To the sprint football senior: Can we use your toothbrush as a sex toy again?
To one particular house of boys on Delancey: We doubt your sexuality every Friday night when you blast S Club 7.
To the BMOC contestant who wore a thong and spread his legs on stage: Movember is not an excuse to not manscape.
To the girl who slept with the guy with a mannequin fetish: You’re a doll.
To Europe: We’re sorry for clogging your drains with our chest hair. Love, Theos Juniors.
To the Beta Abercrombie model: Please lose the trucker haircut… it’s getting harder to fantasize about you.
To the girl who went through four Wawa milkshakes before realizing she needed to remove the aluminum foil cover: I saw that.
To the bulimic girls in Van Pelt: The walls in the bathrooms aren’t soundproof.
To the asshole who pulled my laundry out 15 minutes early: I wish your dad had pulled out 15 seconds early.
To Max who shares his iTunes library in Huntsman: Your “Baby Makin” playlist is hilarious.
To the girl who “like, totally supports the Occupy movement”: You’re holding a Birkin bag. Shut up.
To anyone planning on getting a haircut at Aveda: Whatever you do, don’t talk! Distractions lead to unwanted mullets and uneven bangs.
To the guy in front of me at Fresh Grocer buying white fudge covered Oreos, a can of New England clam chowder soup and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s: It’s okay to cry.
To the senior husband-hunter: Every guy at Penn already knows you refuse to graduate without a rock on your finger. Maybe settle for a class ring instead?
To the girl with huge tits that struts around Hillel on Friday nights: Can I put my matzoh balls in your soup?
To the Hilary Swank lookalike: You are The Resident of my heart. Boys Don’t Cry, but I’d be touched to The Core if you would share my Conviction. P.S. I Love You. Will you mother my Million Dollar Baby?
To girls who claim to like poets: Why’re thy heads not twixt my thighs?
To the girl forced out of my bed post–coitus due to a fire alarm: I pulled it.
To the hunched-over man who stomps around with his cane in Van Pelt from the hours of 2 to 5 a.m.: Where the hell is your PennCard?
To my freshman resident who leaves condom wrappers in the hall to look cool: You know you can’t get yourself pregnant, right?
To the sophomore I hooked up with during NSO that said “I love you” while I was fucking him: A simple thanks would suffice.
To Rebel Bingo: I spent five hours dressing up like a bloody cheerleader and all I got was this lousy Panda suit.
To the bland Fiji brother who looks like Voldemort: Accio personality!
To the guy who picked a sandwich over sex: I’m not gonna wait around ‘til they take the Gobbler off the Wawa menu.
To the freshman softballer who chugged condiments in my basement: I never mustard up the courage to ask you to French.
To the kid who goes to Pottruck to play Pokemon: Will you ever evolve?
To the Theos senior who favors women’s clothing: It’s weird that you fill that dress better than your “girlfriend.”
To the girls who put TriDelt under work on their Facebook profiles: Does slut come before or after fellatio in the job description?
To Alpha Phi: Your puns aren’t phunny.
To people who jog on Locust: There are easier ways to avoid flyers.
To the Theta–Tabard contingency abroad: They redid the 5th floor in VP. You can all come back now.
To the wizard of farts (wof): I just wanted you to know I respect your powers and the secrecy of your identity. WoF on.
To the limping Quad security guard: Who are you honestly going to catch?
To the girl who meowed and clawed at my door in the Radian at 3:30 a.m.: I don’t want your pussy.
To the kid in my history class who farted during his oral presentation: That blows.
To Capogiro: You know the PowerDown challenge was just for the dorms, right?
To the girl who offered me head to make up for voming on my shoes: Apology accepted.
To Jimmy John’s: When girls in my sorority go to the gym, I go to the Jim. No regrets.
To the Theta sophomores who wear high heels at Smoke’s: Now if you trip, you get a nosejob on the house!
To the URBS senior studying “concerting” for his thesis: That’s not a word and rolling at a Kaskade concert doesn’t count as “ethnographic research.”
To my ex: Sleeping with my friends won’t convince any of us you’re straight.
To the late movembeards: Good riddance, you pussy ticklers.
To the TEP sophomore who grew out a Pringles ‘stache this Movember: Once you popped, the fun stopped.
To Skulls, who are now on administrative watch after a “party” with SK: Worth it?
To my anti–Semitic Chinese roommate who thinks the Jews control the media: Oh Mao you didn’t!
To the closet gay dating our friend: She totally matches your purse!
To the guy in our history seminar who never did the reading and thought he could cover it by endlessly spouting random knowledge: You taught us so much about Ancient Greece. Too bad the class was French Enlightenment.
To everyone on the 4th floor of VP last night: I’m sorry I can’t stop queefing.
To my roommate who stopped dealing Adderall: Wait, I forgot what I was gonna say.
To the boy who defecated on the floor of the bathroom on my hall: Get your shit together.
To the Kappa Sig I spent hours discussing literature with: Maybe if you brought up Moby Dick, I would have considered bringing up yours.
To the girl wearing more perfume than clothing: Just because you smell like Paris Hilton doesn’t mean you should act like her.
To the recently closed Cream & Sugar: Is my Groupon for your special cupcake classes still valid?
To the PiKapp senior who told everyone I was prude: Talking big to your bros doesn’t make you big where it counts.
To my German class: You are mein kampf.
To the boy who vommed after sex: Too bad I can’t purge the memory.
To all the JAPs studying abroad: Taking photos in front of various walls of graffiti does not qualify as a cultural experience.
To my little who asked me to choose between her and her ex–boyfriend: You can’t give me what he can.
To the boy with the really itchy scarf: You say Hermes, I say herpes.
To my roommate who taped the picture of a Victoria’s Secret model to our fridge: In your dreams.
To my Radian neighbor: I’m happy you have a healthy sex life but my shattered picture frames aren’t as thrilled.
To the junior girl who still talks with a baby voice: Pwease stop.