To the assistant women’s soccer coach: If you serve it into my box, I’ll finish every time.
To the KapSig who convinced a freshman to take it in the ass because “that’s what college girls do when they have their periods”: Why not just ask one of your brothers?
To the girls with the stripper pole right by your window: Just know that we skip Shabbat dinner every week to watch your sexy Friday night show. Keep it up, because we sure are. Love, AEPi.
To Penn Democrats: We get it. He won. Stop e-mailing me.
To Stephen Morse: Didn’t you graduate? Don’t call yourself a Penn student when you stupidly try to fight Black Panthers.
To Saturn Club: If I wanted a Brazilian wax, I would ask for one. Don’t take your frustration out on my va-jay-jay.
To the girl with the extreme side part: Check yourself. Your mom looks younger than you.
To my roommate who loves her birthday: You get one day, not a whole fucking month. [First ed. note: In these hard times, any reason to celebrate is a good reason. Kudos to your roommate.] [Other ed. note: Fuck your roommate!]
To Gossip Girl: You deserve a shoutout… because you're actually retarded… and everyone loves you… including me.
To the real “G” on campus: Yea, you won the Truman scholarship and are in two honor societies. But heads up: your beats are wack, you grew up in Westchester County NOT South Bronx and everybody can see through your false modesty. Not cute. You better up your vocabulary, before somebody calls you out for real.
To my roommate: I wasn’t sleeping when you fucked that 250 lb. whale with bad skin. Mistakes happen once, not five times.
To OCR and the economy: SUCK MY FUCKIN’ BALLS.
To the 25-foot truck we drove all night long: It took 45 minutes to get you started, but once we got your engine revved up, we were riding dirty. I miss you and your wide turns. Can’t wait to rendezvous in a barren parking lot in South Philly in the winter. Love, SENIORS '09 RULE.
To the Bristol Palin lookalike banker at the Citi information session: I wasn’t looking for your nametag, I was staring at your boobs.
To my freshman sibling: You’re already way cooler than I’ll ever be, but stay away from the drugs. You’re looking haggard. Love, Big Sis.
To the guy that lives across from me on Spruce: You accidentally saw me naked once, but next time it won’t be an accident.
To the girl in my grad class who looks like she has to take a dump all the time and interrupts her gchats to throw in the more pretentious bullshit I have ever heard: If you were crossing the street and I was driving a car, I probably would not stop. The look on your face would probably not change.
To the head of College Republicans: What was more painful, McCain losing or getting punched out by that lacrosse girl?
To Lil' Wayne: Seriously, what the fuck is a goon to a goblin? From, Beezy.
To the insanely loud girl in my English class: I don’t care if our professor is pushing 90. She hears you, we ALL hear you. Hush yo’self.
To my anorexic roommate: Just because I bought the food doesn’t mean it has no calories for you.
To the two people having the loudest sex ever on Baltimore: Do you mind closing the fucking window next time? Living with the blind person’s street crossing chirp is bad enough, but I’d like to sleep without the yelping of a girl that sounds like she’s being poked by a 50-foot flagpole haunting me. P.S. That flagpole comment was not meant as a compliment, dude. Any self- respecting male that screams “ouch” during sex should be ashamed of himself.
To The 5’11” Asian girl who wouldn’t have sex with me because I’m too short: Can we have sex if I stand on a phone book? From, your 5’7" friend.
To the incompetent deviant who left her bag of trash in a Quad stairwell: Probably should have pulled out your signed credit card receipts first. And please note that the $100 fine can only be paid by cash or check. From, the House Dean.
To the freshman in Business Spanish who looks and acts like Michael Cera: Meet me at Franklin Field in yellow running shorts and a maroon tee.
To the HSOC Medical Sociology professor who looks like Ryan Reynolds: Let’s not be Just Friends. I’ll be Waiting to do something Wilder in your Van and Definitely, Maybe we can play doctor in an interpretive model physician-patient relationship?
To the kid who doesn’t want to marry his girlfriend: Maybe you should let her know before she gets a job in Philadelphia and moves in with you next year. [Ed. note: This is not really a shoutout, but sound advice. Please inform her.]
To the Woolly Mammoth: For every person you tell we hooked up, I will tell three people where you made me put my fingers. Who’s laughing now?
To the prick in PiKapp on the sprint football team: I didn’t know how you made weight until I took your pants off.
To my ex-boyfriend on the lacrosse team: I slept with your teammate while we were still together, and he was better with his long pole.
To the registered burglar I found in our house and gave our old keg to: I’m sorry the cops arrested you after driving by and finding you rolling it down our alleyway. You didn’t tell me you were a criminal. I’ll see ya in court.
To irony, skinny jeans and indie rock music: I'm so sad the commodification of hipsterdom killed you. Call me when your license agreement with American Apparel is up.
To the Penn Bookstore: Who puts the Sex Section next to the Children's books?
To the kids running Eco Week: While the pile of trash is certainly a bold statement, your handing out paper flyers proves you've missed the point on this one. Good luck landing that "sustainable" job.
To the sophomores in Tabard: This fall, please rush girls that weigh less than you. You’re forcing us off campus. Thanks, Phi Sig Sig.
To the gross Sig Nu guy who told girls to flash him: You gave up all hope of getting any when you accepted your bid.
To my same-sex housemate who apparently masturbates to thoughts of me: Now that the secret’s out… same here!
To all the girls of ethnicities I haven’t had the privilege of hooking up with: Wassup?
To Teach For America: Nice try.
To every grumpy, badly dressed and/or lesbian English grad student at Penn: No one will ever want to look at your book arts project. Deal with it.
To my runny nose: Why you gotta do me like that?
To the kid in my class who picks his nose and eats it in my 10-person seminar: We sit in a small table. I see you. Try doing it in our bigger lecture class: it's closer to lunchtime anyways.
To my thesis seminar: I'm all the Lesser without you!
To BlackBerrys: I'm not important enough to have you, but Daddy's rich so I do! Don't get lost.
To everyone living in the Radian: Your existence is only redeemed by the promise of Chipotle.
To our beloved roommate: We didn’t “lose” the chore wheel. We destroyed it.
To Cosi: Your bread is heaven, but ordering at lunch is hell.
To the current Editor-in-Chief: Put this shoutout in or prepare for all the shoutouts that will get through next semester while you’re too busy lying in the fetal position chewing on your hair and wondering where your life went... to have a say.
To my MKTG211 professor: Your clothes are so tight, I can see both pit stains and what can only be called panty lines.
To the pre-orientation leader with the leather vest: I don’t want to see your penis anymore and neither does anyone else. Put some pants on.
To the women’s rugby team: Why do all your stories involve urination?
Shoutout to Nneka Mitchell: 'cuz… she got it like that.
Shoutout to Ben Rosen: 'cuz… he got it like that.
To the people in VP who wear headphones but play music so loud we hear it anyway: When I stare at you, it isn’t because I find you interesting. It is because I want you to get a fucking clue.
To the stupid idiots who designed the library: Why the fuck is there no bathroom on the first floor? When I have to piss I don’t feel like going downstairs or upstairs where the single-sex bathroom’s always occupied by someone taking a shit.
To the girl getting it done in the 5th floor stacks: Your ass is translucent and oh wait… I peed in your rain boots.
To the seat stealing University Official: Thanks for kicking me out of my front row seat at the Colbert Report last semester after I waited around for hours. Just imagine my happiness in seeing you hold your head in agony during The Roots’ screaming guitar riffs. I wish they’d blown out your eardrums, you ass.
To my Chinese teacher: You’re the most precious person alive and we all secretly want to hug you.
To Masala: Next time you have a party, here's hoping the Earth splits open and Hell swallows you whole. After the screaming, it'd be a lot quieter. If that doesn't happen, spoiler alert: your stereo will mysteriously disappear. Love, your neighbors.
To Mr. Manbiguous: The verdict's in: you're officially not manicorn material.
To Beta: It makes me very upset that my roommates have you to choose from as a dating pool. No wonder they continue to go out with their high school boyfriends.
To PennQuest leaders: Stop using your pre-orientation program as an opportunity to mack on 18-year-old biddies!
To my ex-argyle friend: Not only is your girlfriend huge, she’s a huge bitch. I would have expressed this sentiment long ago if I weren’t so afraid she’d eat me.
To the guy who told me “I should have warned you, I’m good with my hands”: No warning was necessary.
To the anorexic Asian chick in the skeleton X-ray shirt: The ultimate irony!
To UA members who signed off on the $50,000.00 decrease to the 2009 Spring Fling concert budget: You were right; we do rig the event lotteries (it was so cute when you guys entered to win Anderson Cooper tickets!). We also manage security, so good luck getting into any stud gov sponsored events this year. Fuck you very much. From, SPEC.
To dry-humping and handjobs: WTF!?!?
To the Dickensian douchebag English grad student in the three-piece suit and hat every day: No one had CVS-brand black hair dye in the 1800s — get a life.
To Campus Apartments: Yes! We would much rather have Harvest Fest than lower rent! Thanks for that amazing event.
To the foxy Friar who slept with a senior a couple years go: a) How hammered was this guy? and b) Are you excited to start collecting Social Security? From: SL.
To the Radian: After Amy Gutmann, you are the most expensive and overrated waste of space on this campus. On the plus side, your face is prettier.
To the girl whose navel I dumped my load in a month ago: Sorry I burst out laughing. How could you not find that hilarious? From, Belly Button Buster.
To sociopath: You threatened to kick me out of your house if I used your towel. I didn't use your towel, but I did enjoy the rough sex. Is your name Jo(h)n?
To Bloomers: All the best.
To our fantastic housemate: Maybe you should pay the $2,000 you owe us, or the next time your religious parents stay at our house for a week, we might let it slip that you’re no longer a virgin.
To Penn Course Review: I hope “Anal Meth Econ” and “The Golden Ass” are as promising as they sound.
To having sex: You're so fun! But sometimes, I'm tired.
To the Commencement speaker decision-making people: Please don't give us a wrinkly old white man, especially if he's a Republican. Here are some suggestions: J.K. Rowling, anyone from the cast of 30 Rock and Sasha Fierce.
To the douchiest English professor: Your class is so boring I have to concentrate on doing Kegel exercises to stay awake. Good luck guessing who is the busy beaver.
To the 4th Floor Speakman ladies room wall stall: Before I met you, I never knew the joy of pooping in the dark. You have changed my life forever. Thank you.
To the girl who asked if it was weird that her dad told her Hershey’s Kisses had fortunes inside and that she had to kiss him on the mouth every time she unwrapped the word “kiss": You are so lucky there is no such thing as Hershey’s Fucks.
To the guy caught jerking off next to me on the campus loop shuttle: C’mon dog, you were hitting my elbows. Just stop man, just stop.
To pickles: You're my favorite food! You're so versatile and make my blood-pressure skyrocket. And you come in a barrel!
To the soccer player I HEARD making magic with his hands: Glad to hear someone is breaking records on and OFF the field!
To the mob of Asian girls always in the Harnwell elevators who only make room for other Asians: Don't be the wok that calls the kettle black.
To the Beta in my URBS class: You might be Greek by the grace of God, but something tells me you were born by the grace of incest.
To the girl who dropped trou and pissed on the floor during our Halloween party and then had the audacity to show up to our date party the next weekend: Good luck during rush. Enjoy Theta.
To my friends who chose i-banking instead of Teach For America last year: Ironic that I now make more money than you. That's what you get for hating poor kids.
To everyone’s favorite twins: Because of your hasty departure, shoutout submissions have dropped by 30%. Come back on an Arabian horse?
To the Society for Pretentious Hacks, Imbeciles, Nitwits and Xenophobes: We know “Sphinx” is less of a mouthful, but let’s just call a spade a spade. Yours, the Fearless Rejectors of Idiots’ and Assholes’ Rights Society
To the people who press the “Door Close” button on elevators: Is your time really that precious that you must try and shave seconds off your elevator ride? Your efforts are fruitless anyway; it never makes the door close any faster. Good luck with the inevitable arthritis in your pointer finger!
To my roommate's long-distance boyfriend: Please come back soon so she'll shave her legs.
To the girls on our hall who started temporarily sharing our bathroom last month: With the overturned trash-cans, the shower water everywhere and the abandoned tampons, the bathroom looks as if a bunch of menstruating raccoons just finished fighting a fire. Enough.
To the guys at the Farmers' Market selling apples: You are beautiful. I don’t want to make a purchase, I just want to fondle your fruit.
To the trite Theos thophomore that tries too thard to tempt us to trek to Transit Thursdays at twilight: Shut up.
To Cream & Sugar: Where’s the door to the meth lab?
To a senior lacrosse player: Those were cries of pain, not pleasure. Good looks don’t mean good moves, because you had no idea what you were you doing. Learn some female anatomy and, until then, drop the attitude.
To my Newman Center housemate: While snooping, I found your S&M gear. Baby Jesus is crying. To the AM: You’ve gained too much weight, but you have the best cock ever.
To the girl whose purging I interrupted in the Fisher-Bennett bathroom: Was that as awkward for you as it was for me?
To the Asian guy with the '90s surfer cut who has made the corner of Huntsman’s first floor study lounge his home: If the door hadn’t been locked, I would’ve peed all over your stuff last night. And I ate asparagus for dinner. On purpose.
To the girl who dropped her purse and had KY Jelly drop out: I judge you and love you at the same time.
To the junior in Owls who recently cut his curly Euro-flow: We know you’re trying to use your new man look to get with the same Penn hooches for round two, but a haircut doesn’t nullify a restraining order.
To all boys at Penn: That doesn’t go there.
To TriDelt: The rest of us don’t have to bus our dates to the middle of the forest to get some. Enjoy the bark burn.
To the Lehman Brothers recruiter I blew during my interview: What a waste of time.
To Manbearpig: Take it bitch!
To Juicy Campus:
