Dear Shoutout Submitters,
This isn't J-Date. Please stop using the shoutouts as a means of telling someone you want to bone them. If you would like, since we know who you are and since you have made it clear who the other party is, we can facilitate this mating process in a shoutout mixer. Look out for our evite. Rohypnol and grain-alcohol will be supplied. BYO contraception, no eye-contact necessary. If this party doesn't suit your fancy, please arrange your own booty calls the old-fashioned-way by either a) text-messaging, b) Facebook-poking or c) growing a pair and, dare I say, asking them out?
Furthermore, shoutouts are not a ledger of whom you have fucked. We get it. You're a whore. For the bathroom wall, see February 15th's issue of Street. Luckily for you, we have scheduled free VD testing at the food truck on the corner of 38th and Spruce. Give them our code: IaMunoriginal.
If this is the best you can do with your anger, Penn community, I would try Milk of Magnesia, because obviously your shit is coming out via your e-mails to shoutouts. Do better next time.
All the best in your future endeavors,
Low Brow
