To the Smokes bouncer in Castle: You're lucky you work in the dark because otherwise everyone would see the glare from your bald spot.
To my a cappella group: Please stop getting drunk and making out with each other. It makes rehearsal uncomfortable, and I'm worried that this continued incest will produce deformed, mutant a cappella babies.
To the Junior Class Board: The one responsibility you have this year is Hey Day, and you couldn't even move it from a Tuesday... when everyone has class. Not boding well for Feb Club '09.
To the friendly receptionist at Planned Parenthood: It's kind of creepy that you know my name. I have this weird feeling you are counting my abortions.
To the kids that ride unicycles around campus: If you are going to use a ridiculous looking and inefficient means of transportation, why not take up penny-farthing? (look it up)
To my weird roommate who says we can't have a microwave because it's, like, bad for the environment: The last time you asked me to clean our apartment, I used all of the ozone-depleting, animal-killing, rainforest-destroying products I could get my hands on. Funny how global warming smells lemony-fresh. To the Theta in my history recitation: What could possibly be going on in your life that would cause you to make that horrible face for 50 minutes straight? I'd give you a hug, but I'm afraid you'd steal my soul.
To the disgusting St. A's senior who buys people over by taking them to Turks and Caicos: You're fucking gross. Go get a life and stop talking about your parents' money - clearly it's gotten you nowhere.
To Pierre: What are you doing Friday?
To the llama at Zetes: We saw you get dragged out on a leash by some busted chick for a photo op. Don't worry, we've been through worse. XOXO, Beta.
Dear Mortar Board, Sphinx, and Your Sorry Ilk: You matter less than UA elections, and your vandalism/self-promotion is almost as bad. You're the most miserable group of self-indulgent pricks on campus since the Clinton campaign left. Choke on your shit and then tell me it don't stink. -The Guy Who Egged You
To the Ayuda Ball: You were more overhyped and less satisfying than the average Theos boy. Like sex with said boy, only half-naked cokeheads enjoyed it. Sniffles.
To God: You seriously had to rescue the Jews on 4/20 this year? Brisket and matza just don't quite satisfy like Ben and Jerry's. To Pike: All things considered, I'm glad I ended up on the pavement instead of down some pledge's gullet. Congratulations on initiating another fine group of young men. Sincerely, the dead goldfish lying outside your house.
To the blond sibling in CGS: Stop cheating on your boyfriend for coke.
To Comic Sans: I hope you lead a sad, lonely life full of cats and "as seen on TV" appliances. I hate you.
To Penn: Stop making me feel like a 7-year-old in intergalactic battle school being subjected to the most rigourous stressful battle situations. Thanks.
To whoever occupies the 3rd floor front room of the baseball house: The banshee you're banging needs a muzzle.
To Student Health: Thanks for telling me that I either had a) pelvic disease, b) kidney stones, c) ovarian cysts, d) was pregnant, or e) ALL OF THE ABOVE. Tell me the next time you're going to Google my symptoms so I can just WebMD it at home.
To the guys who live below me: Being European does not entitle you to blast techno at 5 p.m. every Thursday because it's the only way you "get pumped up." Shut it off and get over yourselves.
To my weak-armed, Rock Band playing upstairs neighbor: On the plus side, I haven't missed a single 9 a.m. class ever since you started your five-minute long jam sessions at the crack of dawn. Your drumming stinks, and your room will too when I slide a turd under your door the next time this happens.
To the blonde girl in Chi-O who bitches about how she had no friends in high school: There's a reason.
To Penn Admissions: Thank you for accepting more students to replace those lost to sex crime-related expulsion and violence. Pragmatism at its best.
To the girl at Ayuda who shat on the bathroom floor: You were one-upped by the girl who stepped in it. The only thing to top that was the third girl who offered her "the perfect lip gloss" to make it feel all better. It was kind of like an Orbit commercial.
To Penn Singers: That dude in Iolanthe was definitely more than "half a fairy." And the time for outing your cast was the previous week.
To Sphinks (sp?): If you're going to chalk the whole campus until it looks like crap, at least learn to spell your own goddamn name. Luv, Fryers.
To the girl who believed me when I explained to her that the cum stains on my comforter actually had to do with a prank involving toothpaste: Guess there's one more "toothpaste" stain.
To the girl who texts me every time she gets drunk: A combination of drunken blindness and predictive text always gives me a good laugh before I head over to your apartment for sex.
To the senior fascist in Sammy: You are the worst person ever, nobody likes you and I saw you kissing that dude... sloppy.
To my roommates: Just because there's a black man in the house doesn't mean he came from my room. Wait... yeah, it does. You should try it sometime.
To the beast with fake tits who watches obese porn in the High Rise lounge: Everybody knows (or at least they do now).
To the cracked out old guy who never actually studies while in Rosengarten: Shut the fuck up, stop hitting on undergrads and transfer to Drexel, please.
To my Comm TA who always licks her lips and has legs for days: Stop. Blue balls at 3 p.m. is terribly inconvenient.
To the girl that Street isn't allowed to write about: HA!
