To my friend who blacked out over Spring Break and screamed about her Grandma Roda: Jamaica will always remember how “she kept those ghetto kids in check.”
To our roommate who had sex on the kitchen table: There are some things you just don’t send out on the house textserv.
To my little: You are one HUP trip away from being their Foursquare mayor.
To the football player I brought back to Quad: Looks like you caught more than just touchdowns this year.
To the central staircase in College Hall: Thank you and 3rd floor classes for getting my ass into shape.
To the girl I always see wearing black on Locust: From one curvy woman to another slightly curvier woman, black is indeed slimming…but it doesn’t work miracles.
To the guy who lived in Speakman three years ago that I promised I’d have sex with under the Button my senior year: How’s next Thursday at midnight?
To the Indian ultimate frisbee player: Next time, I’ll let you score in both endzones.
To the chubby kid who masturbates in the Huntsman bathroom stalls: “Vigorous wiping” is only plausible for the first 10 seconds.
To SPEC: You think you’re a Mr. Know–It–All, but all we wanted was A Moment Like This. Why didn’t you invite Miss Independent for Fling?
To the gays who took over Shoutouts last semester: Seriously? You already have New York and LA. WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!
To the TriDelt who talked to me for 15 minutes about tanning at Rush: You know I’m black, right?
To whomever made up the language requirement: The only thing I am ever going to remember how to say in Chinese is, “More dumplings!”
To anonymous sources in 34th Street features: We know exactly who you are.
To my Rodin toilet seat: Why you always wanna fall when I pee?
To my roommates: For the love of my jeans, please stop baking!
To the Zeta junior who has been embezzling rent money all year: That’s Nor–way to treat your friends.
To the white girl in The Inspiration: Your on–stage lap dance forced me to cover mine.
To the ladies in the Pottruck bathrooms: Just because you have your headphones on dosn’t mean I can’t hear your pooing grunts.
To the AEPi geniuses: Congrats on tHe Excellent gpAs. all the moThers will bE pRoud of their jappy kidS!
To our super lame Spruce housemate: It’s getting hard to pretend we like you.
To the GA who flirted with me after trying to bust me for smoking pot: You may have smelled my weed, but you’ll never get to my bush.
To loud breathers: If you can’t quiet down, maybe you weren’t meant to do it at all.
To Theos seniors: Why do you all look squished?
To Micah: You’re a strong, black woman and you don’t need no man.
To whomever reserved the 4th floor VP carrel stacked with books about cinematography and sex: What exactly do you wanna do when you grow up?
To Off The Beat: Your concerts are becoming more like Top 40 karaoke with my family — some music, but mostly just a lot of awkward screaming.
To the bro next door who didn’t stop masturbating despite our Shoutout last semester: Thank you.
To my Turkish douchebag of a roommate: No wonder they won’t let you assholes into the European Union.
To my roommate who I sometimes fantasize about: Don’t worry, it’s not weird…the dreams are all about killing you.
To the girl who sits next to me in my 9 a.m. class on Fridays: Please stay away from open flames! You smell combustible!
To my paranoid roommate: Yes, I do hoard all the forks.
To the girl in the elevator who I embarrassed into admitting that she looked familiar because she used to sleep with my roommate: I’m so sorry. I’m the reason why elevators should be uncomfortably quiet.
To my friend who found me passed out in his bed, vomiting on his bathroom floor after getting kicked out of a date party: Thanks for tucking me in, bro.
To the PiKapp who decided to live in a TriDelt house because he wasn’t frat frat frat: That’s still not going to get you laid laid laid.
To the AXO who made music with Cazette: House music doesn’t mean bringing the DJ back to your house.
To the guy who tried booty calling me via Facebook Message at 3 a.m.: Did you “friend” someone else when I ignored you or spend the night “poking” yourself?
To the ogre in AEPi: You only have one layer and it’s douchebag.
To the senior who looks like a mini–Taylor Swift: Why can’t you seeeeeeeee, you belong with me.
To the FroGro employees who watched me eat a raw pizza in the middle of the store at 2 a.m.: This is what a dry spell looks like.
To the girl who got rejected from SDT, Panhel, Omega, Friars, Seniors for the Penn Fund and everything else: It’s you, not them.
To the Russian girl I brought back from Smoke’s: Hooking up with you was like Communism. It made sense in theory, but in practice it was a fucking disaster.
To my Math 170 teacher who always “forgets his calculator”: That, sir, is why YOU are in Math 170.
To the guy who told me “I am gonna fuck the shit out of you”: You didn’t. I’m still constipated.
To the girl in my PSYC class who blows her nose into her sports bra: Do you secretly stuff?
To Allegro’s: Thanks for not judging us when we order delivery. Love, Delancey Street.
To my roommate: Sorry I ate all of your chicken tikka while you were having sex. But it was all the spice I was going to get this Fling.
To AXO: Don’t you find it slightly embarrassing that there’s a thread on your listserve with 30 emails debating Grant Mellon’s haircut?
To the Beta Abercrombie model: Is refusing to cut your hair an act of defiance or do you just not read Shoutouts?
[Ed. Note: Your haircut needs a haircut.]
To my boyfriend: It concerns me that every time I try to watch a Sex and the City episode, you complain to me that you’ve already seen it.
To whoever cleaned up Franklin Field after Tiesto: Did you happen to see my face anywhere?
To the brothers at TEP: Sorry about stealing your bong. But it’s in good hands. Speaking of hands…WHOA!
To my roommate: FUCK YOU DUDE! YOU ATE MY LAST FUCKING COOKIE. MY MOM MADE THOSE FOR ME, ASSHOLE!
To Penn Admissions: Can you please start recruiting a few more WASPs? Love, the Shiksas of Penn (all eight of us)
To the SPEC Director who stole my boxing helmet: You ruined my Fling Saturday, but probably saved my life.
To my roommate who always leaves the door open: I am going to kill you…unless somebody beats me to it.
To the girl I haven’t been able to stand since freshman year: 28 more days.
To my friend who got hit by a car: We all know it was parked, dumbass.
To the 2nd floor yellow suite in Hill: Nine people committing hallcest is nine too many.
To Highbrow: Either diversify your material or stop kidding yourself and just change the name of your section to “The Tabard/Theos Digest.”
To Professor Childers: You are Winston Churchill with a Southern twang and an infinitely better sweater collection.
To the MERT Chief: I’ve considered getting extra hammered just to have you MERT me. Feel free to take the gloves off.
To Zete: Your lack of a petting zoo this year at Fling further confirmed your decline in relevance.
To Penn: Cocaine is not nor has ever been kosher.
To that “waspy” ZBT senior: The only thing worse than having a Theos complex is having an AEPi one, too.
To the future APES: There’s already two off–campus frats for short Jews with more ego than looks. What’s your market?
To the AEPi haters: We can’t hear you over our house music and fireworks.
To my dick: Great job last night.
[Ed. Note: Peter?]
To the people who live below me: You blast the same song every day for under two minutes. Are you afraid of people hearing you poop?
To the girls who stand on the treadmill while texting: Sorry, but exercising your thumbs does not constitute a workout.
To our friend who doesn’t have enough points to go formal, but already asked her date: Do more, then do less.
To whom it may concern: I’m sorry for biting you on St. Patty’s Day for not wearing green. Also, wear green next time.
To the ZTA girls bitching about their formal dates in Rodin: Have you, like, heard of this new downtown? It’s called Pottruck.
To anyone who might be shouting me out: Here’s a preemptive fuck you.
To the Lantern member whose pledge name is “Rack City Bitch”: Even your keg costume couldn’t hide those jugs.
To my boyfriend of 3+ years who graduated but (let’s be real) is still reading 34th Street every Thursday: I love you to the Oort Cloud and back.
[Ed. Note: We took ASTR–001, too. You guys are stellar!]
To the Theta bitch in my STAT class last semester who spent every lecture writing her own name in a notebook and looking at pictures of herself on Facebook: Forget x bar and go back to the G Lounge.
To the TriDelt in my engineering class: Thnks for
sving the curve bby!
To the girl who picked up a call from her dad during sex: I thought I was your daddy…
To Omega: You should ORDER yourselves some new apparel. The half–zips are getting old.
To Metro: When will you understand that a customer base that pays $7 for a latte does not carry cash?
To the junior who put a map of his “jetsetting” on Facebook while abroad: How have you traveled to so many places but still never managed to find your way out of the closet?
To the Skulls senior with a crooked dick: Don’t get too bent out of shape over this Shoutout.
To the TriDelts who wouldn’t leave their house during a carbon monoxide leak because, “Um, we like had a lot of people over for a rush event”: Rush or die Tri–ing?
To the cashier at 7–11 who I see every morning: I haven’t introduced myself yet because I still want you to call me “Dear.”
To the Wharton kids who constantly remind me that I’m in the College whenever I study in Huntsman: Shut up. I don’t constantly remind you that you transferred from Nursing.
To the kid who had a bitching Pringles mustache last semester: Why’d you let the fun stop?
To the girls who left us alone in their house with access to all of their alcohol: Thanks for the Southern Comfort!
To the self–proclaimed “Launch Pad”: Wanna get astronaughty?
To my MKTG–278 professor: Your tramp stamp brings a whole new meaning to personal branding.
To the brave A’s brother that got sick on nicotine from trying to go smoke–for–smoke with a Tabard pledge: Your face looked as green as her outfit.
To whoever came to our party, changed the channel to Cartoon Network and then stole our remote: Consider yourself Dead, Deadd, and Deaddy.
To the Kappa Sig bro who owns more powder blue argyle sweaters than my grandma: Oooh, vintage! We love it.
[Ed. Note: That is the ugliest effing sweater we have ever seen.]
To our sorority “sister” who threatened to deactivate after not getting put on the floor during Rush: You know, sisterhood means keeping your word.
To the Ozstitute senior sluts: The road to hell is paved with yellow bricks.
To the Kappa Sig bros: Three handles, one bottle of Goldschlager and a box of Franzia later, your late nights alone have kept us supplied all year.
To the crazy Asian in Theta who lost her tooth twice in one semester: Hopefully you can get someone to permanently bridge those gaps in your nights.
To the girl I hooked up with at Tiësto: Your saliva is out of control. You should seriously see a doctor about that…or your nearest Molly dealer.
To the soccer player who flashed everyone on St. Patty’s day: GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAL!
To the kids studying in Van Pelt during Fling: Even the security guards took some time to frolic in the sun while I snuck in and peed.
To our sorority social chair: Because you’ve slept with someone in every fraternity, not even Mask & Wig wants to mix with us anymore. This is why we can’t have nice things.
To people who use “casually” in inapplicable situations: “ka•zhu•al•ly: adv. not methodically or according to plan”…which casually implies that you’re using it wrong.
To the Theos boy in my Spanish class: I thought your winter sniffles just meant you had a cold. But it’s four months later and warm out. Allergies?
To the Theta with the huge backpack who always slouches: Cheer up, Charlie. (And lose your bangs?)
To the massive ginge from Temple who stole my iPhone out of the back of my bra during the Chancellor Day party and took it for a joyride: Thanks for the photo. It’s my background.
To Bui’s: Hemo says your sauce is just made of salad dressing and soy sauce.
To the pretentious wannabe hipster in my English class: Why don’t you stop talking and write a literary analysis on the fact that you wore a sweater vest as a muscle tee?
To the girl who keeps posting Arrested Development quotes on her friend’s wall: Please stop ruining the things I love.
To every girl who updates her status with music lyrics: Why does it always have to be Death Cab for Cutie whether you’re happy or sad?
To the woman who works at the juice bar at Pottruck: I could burn 300 calories in the time it takes you to swipe my PennCard.
To the overeager self–checkout attendant at the 40th Street CVS: Yes, I have an ExtraCare card. And no, I don’t want to buy your nuts, even if they’re only $1 today.
To the senior in Mask and Wig who put “Foursquare Mayor of DP Dough” on his resume: I bet your Goldman interviewer was really impressed.
To the freshman who threw me his Quad keys and walked away when I asked him to unlock a bathroom over Fling: I still have your keys! How can I find you?
To the Real Le Anh’s: After three years at Penn, I’m still not convinced.
To the Theta who continued to fist pump as she was escorted out of the Quad on a stretcher during Fling: Will you go to formal with me?
To the Asian girl whose room I woke up in naked in the highrises: I was just as surprised as you were.
To the guy who jumped onstage during the concert: Tiesto must’ve been all like, “I feel so close to you right now…”
To the Castle boy who bounces at Smoke’s: Your power trip is interfering with my underage drinking.
To my freshman year roommate who thought she could secretly masturbate with an electric toothbrush: Bzzzzzz.
To the people who organized an “alter egos” BYO: Sucks that your normal selves suck.
To the two girls whose bathroom window did not have blinds until halfway through this semester: You showered us with happiness.
To everyone in my Queer Theory class: I love y’all open–minded bitches!
To the freshman girl who thought Ohio State’s main campus was in Maine: Look up “homophones.”
To my Engineering TA: I wish you were my problem set so you’d be hard and I’d be doing you on my desk.
To the guy who gave me permission to fuck his girlfriend: We’ve been doing it without your blessing for a year.
To the TEP bro who was unknowingly at a gay pregame chatting up some “very friendly guys”: We’re sorry you don’t have more of those in your fraternity.
To MBAs who go to Smoke’s: Did you know Kweder when he went here?
To the 2 UA Exec members that boned in the UA office before their terms were up: Bill and Monica heartily approve.
To the Omega Asian who ravaged our house looking for mixers: We’re all out of Pepsi, but we have plenty of coke.
To my neighbor on Pine that I can hear having sex: Whether you’re yelling “Meow” or “Owww,” you are clearly doing something wrong.
To the two tiny people in our PV foursome: Ever played Lincoln Logs?
To the frosh baseball player who asked me to leave my room so he’d get it in with my roommate: From what I heard, it’s no surprise you used to play shortstop.
To the kid who sat across from me in the VP basement, flossing his teeth: You missed a spot.
To Theta: This is our Shoutout about your Fling shirts.
To the girl that looks away when I see her on Locust: Just as a reminder of how we know each other — we fucked. Twice.
To the gassy vent on 34th Street: I hate you. You make my glasses fog up and when I wear a dress, I feel like I’m being violated.
To the rower in my poetry class: Who would have thought your comments would be such strokes of genius?
To a certain all–female comedy troupe: You don’t have to be a variation on Mask & Wig. In fact, you’d be funnier if you’d just be Bloomers.
To the guy who called me “the ginger on the loose” in Shoutouts two years ago: I’m back, and I’m coming for YOU!
To Owls: Less saxophone, more DJ Saxobeat.
To the Theta who brought her unemployed trust fund boyfriend on Spring Break: We had more fun with him on Spring Break than we’ve had with you in four years.
To Wawa: Your milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard.
To creepy kid in my econ lecture: take the frog helmet off man. seriously. it smells like the swamp from which you came. and another thing: call me love you lots muah
To Black Vulture: stop eating the rubber off of my windshield wipers!
To Michael: in case you were wondering about the 400 emails you received, it was in fact my handiwork. If you think it was a waste of my time, let me tell you that it took about 2 minutes to accomplish. I sincerely hope you get some additional mental help soon, because your life is about to become a living hell. Enjoy the slores from my floor!! xoxoxoxo<3<3
Dear Axis Pizza: I know that you are secretly Allegros. Pizzagurlllll
To my boyfriend: meow
To “The Fratstar”: the sex was subpar.
To the bitch and her minions: FUCK YOU RIGHT BACK. you lost anyways.
To Tiesto: OMG WHY DIDN’T YOU PLAY LEVELS?!?!
To the guy who literally hit on me by smacking me with a baseball bat and claiming me in the name of America: that big yellow bat isn’t going to compensate for the little yellow thing in your pants.
To the girl who is rude — literally: I thought you were my friend. You tricked me. Ow.
To Olivia: I stalk your Facebook and laugh all the time.
To the dude I DFMO on Friday: Hey. I just met you and this is crazy. I’ll sign you in and fuck you maybe.
To the girl who pissed on my chair while I was sleeping: I would have preferred if you did it in my mouth.
To yo momma: She fat.
To the Buzz: Hahahahahahahahaha.
HEY AEPI! SWEET CHEST HAIR!
To that gorgeous girl I see walking to class everyday: I want to introduce myself to you, and ask you out for a nice date downtown. I’d bring an expensive bottle of wine, and we’d have a really nice meal. We’d talk about our families, you’d bring up your childhood, and I my unresolved father issues. We would both agree how we’ve never felt closer to one another after one single dinner. I walk you to your dorm, and I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes off of your smile; that smile that lights up even after my dumb jokes. In the blink of an eye our walk comes to an end, and I’d do anything to extend it. You invite me into your room, and we embrace. Neither of us have ever felt closer, our lips touch and sparks fly. We never want to let go, and then…I prematurely ejaculate. Damnit, nevermind.
To M.E.: sucks to suck, sorry, I’m not sorry.