To the avant-garde transfer: So, you’re bipolar. Too bad both of your personalities suck.
To my roommate who never showers: I spray you with Febreze while you’re asleep.
To all of you who start your sentences with, “I’m not gonna lie”: You guys should get together with those kids who start their questions with “I have a question…” Then you could go around stating obvious truths until you were comfortable with your intellectual abilities.
To the drunk baseball player: Asking me if I know “Candace” and then saying “Candace dick fit in your mouth?” was not the best way to get me into bed.
To Penn Fashion Week: Man leggings? Are you Satan?
To the Gentlemen of Four Thousand Pine: While I appreciate your efforts to set the mood for late night parties, my singed dress and second degree burns are evidence that you might want to revise your strategy. Keep the candles for your next circle of light ceremony. Lovingly, Fireman Sam
To the freshman who fake broke up with me: It’s just you and your hand tonight.
To the prick on 4th floor Pottruck: There is no “seat saving” for machines, not even for codependent gays who can’t get their HR up without seeing their (exercise) partner’s junk flapping about. Move on or get a room.
To the Guster band member who snorted whey protein at the after party: So much better than playing “the game with the balls and the cups.”
To the firecrotch who tried to kick Guster out of the after party: Way to be “that guy.” Hope you got the pounding your brothers promised you.
To the guy who said no to sex during a one night stand: Did you think you were getting another chance?
To the idiot in Houston who asked me for my receipt: Congrats. You got me on the one day I actually paid for my food.
To the economy: How did you know I liked being fucked up the ass?
To “Tree”: Sorry we haven’t had enough freshmen girls at our parties this semester for you to plant your seed. Maybe you should branch out and stop sticking your wood in Penn’s young saplings.
To our “star” housemate: You know why your dad came halfway across the country to the spring game? Because it would be worthless to come in the fall and see you on the bench.
To the girl on Beige who gets lots of attention: That’s because you have big jugs. I mean, your boobs are huge. I mean, I wanna squeeze ‘em!
To our awesome housemate: We figured out months ago that you’re pocketing some of the utilities money. But wouldn’t it be a little less obvious if you didn’t say we owed $600 every month?
To my boyfriend’s best friend: I have it on good authority that he likes vagina. A lot. Sorry, bro.
To the small margin of Penn students that the admissions officers let in by accident: What is the probability that you would ALL end up in my sociology recitation?
To my group project teammate who couldn’t help out because she had a capella practice for 5 hours a night the whole week: Here are some excuses that I view as more legitimate: my imaginary friend got hit by a bus. I really need to finish this lanyard. House is on TV. I’m studying Kabala.
To cell phone users in bathrooms: The last time it was important enough to tell someone you took a dump, you were a toddler. Either buy some pull-ups or get off the phone.
To the Theta/Tabard contingent in my Urban Studies class: Greasy hair and a New York address don’t translate into a knowledge of the real world. Shut the fuck up.
To the girl from California who used to have sex with hot dogs: Your reputation followed you to Philadelphia. Also, stop talking in my history class. It’s just not kosher.
To the newest Pi Kapp groupie: Now that you’ve hooked up with three of us and earned the steak knives, just thought we’d let you know that getting up to ten of us will get you a nice luggage set.
To my right nut: Grow. Just a little would be fine. Please.
To Ben Franklin: I’m sorry I peed on you. Honestly though, I’m pretty sure you would have peed on you too.
To the girl who shat outside of TEP: How the fuck did you grow the balls to stick around while all the brothers stood 10 feet away laughing at you? You really should have left immediately after dropping the kiddies off. Now we talk about you. Oops!
To the former sorority president: Next time you try to sue us you should think about the repercussions your sorority will face. Oops, I guess the cat’s out of the bag. We’re sorry you didn’t get that signing bonus... good luck paying the legal fees. Love, OFSA
To the obnoxious tour guide who plays Jewish Geography with prefrosh: Save it for Hillel.
To Engineering students: No, that is not what she said.
To the perpetual question asker in my Physics class: Stop asking me questions that you already know the answer to. And stop asking me about my weekend. I'm 86 and my weekend was probably better than yours. Love, Doc S.
To Matt Rosler: You stalked us on Facebook and now you’re on Twitter. Get a fucking life. P.S. Under the Button > Dueling Tampons. Booyah!
To Christine who sits in front of me in Korean: I just want you to know… the back of yo’ head is ridiculous. Can I have yo numba?
To the DOW: If my last girlfriend went down half as often as you we’d be married now.
To my condom: It felt better after you broke, but then oh so much worse.... Signed, an STI survivor.
To the ex-EIC of Street: We are glad to see you haven't spun into a cocaine/pill/alcohol-related depression. Wait. Nevermind. LOL!
To Wendy: Why didn't you come to my party so I could destroy you?
To M-Dribs: I got your sophistication right here. *Grabs crotch.*
To my roommate who memorized my schedule so he knows when to masturbate: I'm skipping Econ on Monday.
To my belly button: It feels so good when I touch you.
To Penn Fashion Week: Man leggings? Are you Satan?
To the mermaid with blatant hair extensions: You attend an Ivy League institution, not a nudist colony.
To the silly little freshman currently sleeping her way through Pi Lam: If you’re going to fuck everything that’s ever made an art, please limit your overly-lipsticked self to the single and the sober. FYI: talent isn’t sexually transmitted, and apparently common sense isn’t either.
To Penn boys: How can one watch that much porn and still not be able to find the clitoris? Buy a roadmap or learn to use your junk correctly, or we’re switching teams. Love, Penn girls waving bi.
To the Pi Kapp guy who grew that grimy mustache: Saddam Hussein Appreciation Week was in September.
To C3: I would return the $4500 worth of stolen goods but I already ate them. From, Twizz.
To the Fisher RA who meets strangers online and brings a gun for protection: Sadly, this is not the most disturbing of your habits.
To the guy who jizzed 3 seconds after my mouth touched his dick: No amount of Hail Marys will absolve you from cumming that fast. Jesus hates you.
To walking up the bridge: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
To my hot finance professor: I want your liquidity preference all over my face.
To the anorexic woman on the 4th floor of the gym: Please eat some bacon before you poke someone’s eyes out with your hip bones.
To the girls with the idiotic headbands: Wearing them halfway down your forehead just cuts off blood flow to the few brain cells you still have left.
To The “Wolf”: When you shave in the bathroom, you leave your hair everywhere. So I pissed in your aftershave.No wonder it really stings.
To our favorite Rhode Islander: You know that girl from UVA who was supposed to come visit you? Well, she definitely came on her visit. Again. And again. And again. Sorry she was too busy to see you.
To our senior friend: Next time you ask a 16-year-old “Do you do bad things?”, make sure it’s not at the Easter dinner table in front of her parents.
To our housemate: Did you tell your girlfriend you went up to Boston to fuck your ex instead of seeing your uncle? Whoops, secret’s out!
To the girl down the hall in Fisher: We all know who you are. Please take the signs as a hint, and wash your hands before you leave the bathroom.
To girls: If you’re God’s gift to men, you’d better come with a receipt. I’m taking you back and using the store credit to buy a Wii. At least then I could get played by someone I respect: Mario.
To that kid in my Organized Crime class who knew exactly what the blast radius of a sawed-off shotgun was: Yeah… gun control laws are stupid.
To the football player who begged me to hold his dick while he peed: No.
To the bad-ass looking male cop who I caught blasting Christina Aguilera from his cruiser on 38th and Spruce: You are beautiful, no matter what they say.
To my French film professor: Thank you for turning me on to deviant sexual acts. I’ll never think of butter the same way again.
To the bucknaked Theta senior who used my laundry bin as a toilet: Did you have to piss on the whites?
To American Apparel: Please send us our cut from the Girl Talk concert sales. It was a pleasure doing business with you. Yours Truly, M.U.S.I.C. For Your Mind.
To the degenerate sophomore who thinks finger painting is an advanced art form: No, your latest work is neither “youthful” nor “fun.” It is a smiley face with a plastic fork glued to it.
To the freshman whose nipples I saw in Acapulco: Are you sure you’re in Theta? Because your Playboy demeanor really suits you to Tri-Delt.
To the sexy international boy who sits in front of me in class: I want you to put your biscotti in my figa.
To the AEPi senior and Theta freshman who look exactly alike: Please mate.
To the trees on Pine: You smell like cum. Poof!
To the person who said the trees on Pine smell like cum: Whoever smelt it, dealt it.
To the Van Pelt printer thieves: Why would you want to steal someone else’s printout??
To the boy who thinks he's hotter than a Jewish Brad Pitt: Your unwarranted love for yourself is almost as unattractive as your sloppiness.
To the dude who lived in my HamCo apartment last year: Thanks for the free ESPN Magazine subscription, we all really appreciate it. Could you remember to renew in June?
To the Penn cop who swerved down Locust Walk in his car to corner me while another one tackled me from behind off my bike and held me to the curb: No, I didn’t steal my own bike.
To the hot Egyptian boy in Pi Kapp with the cobra tattoo: You can slither in me anytime. Sssssssssssssssssssssss.
To the MERT whose bike I stole: Sorry. From, the jackass who ended up having to call you and get medical amnestied five minutes later.
To the girl who got a Goldman offer because of daddy, not brains: If you thought your College major was “too hard,” making a spreadsheet will anally rape you and modeling may actually result in your premature death.
To the boy whose 2nd floor bedroom window reads “I’m Gay” on Beige Block: Me too ;) From, Your friend across the street.
To the always naked guy on the top floor of Delancey: We watched you get it on from our Spruce-side fire escape, and even jack rabbits shouldn’t go that quickly. Close your blinds.
To the Aussie who tries way too hard: Everyone that has ever known you hates you, and even your mother wishes the dingo ate the baby.
To Khaled: In English there is a difference between coming onto a girl and coming on a girl. Either way, it’s kind of creepy that you’re talking about that shit in your Arabic class.
To the self-proclaimed First Lady of Theos: Go back to Pittsburgh. No one will miss you.
To the cow living in my apartment: You only stole ONE of my Insomnia Cookies? I expect more from someone who binge eats tubs of icing and margarine in the middle of the night.
To the Pi Kapp guy who let me tie him up with his tube socks and pour water on him: That was fun. Let’s do it again sometime.
To my roommate who thought I stole her towel: It wasn’t me... it was the large black man I hooked up with who used it. I just hid it under your beanbag.
To my boyfriend’s hard-on: Say it, don’t spray it.
To the geniuses who designed the guys’ bathrooms in Huntsman to have 8 stalls and 4 inconvenient urinals: At least you’re acknowledging Wharton kids are just full of shit.
To my other Multiple-Personality Disorder selves: I saw pictures of one of you on Facebook with that Beta guy from St. Patty’s Day… have we no dignity?!
To the narcoleptic Whartonite in my seminar: Next time you fall asleep standing up we are not going to catch you.
To Akon: I’ve got your sock, bitch!
To my roommate and the Golden Girls fetish: Sorry man, but those girls are slightly out of your league. The lube I smell when entering the room doesn’t help either. Its like trying to get off to a picture of your Grandma.
To Zoo Monkey: I know you can’t read, but I write this in the hopes that you have learned to do so in between throwing poop at me. Though, you spend so much time doing the latter that I can’t imagine you have any time for the former. Still, I try. Yours, Zookeeper.
To the glum English boy in Zete: Life is a box of chocolates and a series of rainbows. Lighten up. You’re bringing down my high, dude.
To anyone who has ever asked to be Ego of the Week: You’re lame. And blacklisted. Love, Street.
To the girl in my Cell Neuro and Mime class: Getting your braces off did not help your diarrhea of the mouth.
To the creepy goateed cashier at Allegro: No, I don’t want to flirt with you when I pay for my 2 a.m. slice. Unless you start giving it to me for free.
To the senior in Theos who attended a high school prom during college: We know... you didn’t detag fast enough.
To the couple I found passed out naked on the floor of the Red Sky bathroom: YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.
To our closeted friends: Please come out soon. We can’t bear to waste anymore of our lives discussing ways to create a more nurturing environment.
To my ignorant marketing professor: Global warming DOES exist. I hope the Arctic ice shelf falls on you. Hard.
To the Street design ed: I want to kern you. Naked. And pica all over your face.
To Metro: Bring back the brie! From, Citizens for the Return of Claudia’s Grilled Cheese.
To the girl I talked to during rush: Telling me how much you wanted to be in Tabard is not going to get you into my house. And it certainly didn’t get you into theirs.
To Matt Judge: Why don’t you contribute anymore? Love, LB.
To the fruit cart man who pinched my ass: Thank you, but I cantaloupe.
To my Fisher roommate: I know you love your girlfriend, but it’s awkward when you look at me during your nightly phone sex.
To my new sister: I’m so glad we’re living in the house together next year. I’ll now have comprehensive wardrobe choices for any and all white trash-themed parties. LYLAS!
To the CS girls: We think “house of anorexic coke-heads” is more straightforward. Maybe that should be the next album title.
To the guy who works at Greek Lady: It is by no means appropriate for you to get my number from my Campus Food order and call me. More than once.
To the Theta sophomore who's hooked up with all of Theos: You know your graduated boyfriend is still on the listserv, right?
To the pedophile who submitted this to our class discussion board: “The HPV virus is something not to be joked about. It is something that you do not want to get, ever! Especially if you are a girl! I know it is very controversial but I believe that little girls are our future and we need to protect them.” Lucky you’re on the football team, eh?
To the chair in my criminology class with the “out of order” sign on it: A chair out of order? Seriously? You should be arrested.
To my fellow seniors: Is it just me or is the student body getting hotter? And I do mean the student body; because we all know the student face still sucks. You leave those aviators on, ladies.
To my wireless adapter and AirPennNet: Because of you, I secretly envy the Amish.
To Penn: I finally lost my virginity! And it only took four Spring Flings. Thanks for the memories!
To the kids with names like Zshu-Liau who asked to be called Jen on the first day of class: If you’re not going to use Zshu-Liau, can I? A name like that shouldn’t go to waste.
To Qdoba: I’m sorry. I was wrong about Chipotle. Turns out bigger isn’t better. Take me back? Love, Ashley.
To the DJ on campus that I would most like to have gay sex with (no homo): You can squeeze me into the corner of an elevator anytime (no homo), and I don’t mean with your big fat belly (no homo).
To Mark: I hate your café.
To the Theos sophomore who dresses like a male prostitute: Just like the horn on your bike, you’re really loud and annoying.
To the cliques of bitchy spray-tanned sorostitutes who arrive at Metro every morning to recount their hookup sob stories to one another: Shut the fuck up. You all look like bloated, orange versions of Courtney Love.
To Akon: You love 30-second song bites. We do not. Love, Penn.
To the junior who wanted to come to the SDT date party: Sorry, your girlfriend isn’t in our house. Since social climbing is your MO, next time date the real thing.
To Fling: Tasteless. And awesome. C U Next Time!
To that guy in Phi Delt with the huge dick: Thank you.
To Wine & Spirits: Your expansion is the bestest. You still scare the shit out of us.
To SPEC: I’ve been on your listserv since freshman year. I have never attended a meeting. Unsubscribe me. Also, please notify Fox Leadership.
To the Asian women at the gym: Trim the bush or don’t walk around naked. Hairless my ass.
To the ice cream truck that rolls down Beige Block: Doot doot doot doot dooooooo do do do do dooot do do doot doot do dooooo doot.
To my fraternity brothers who made out with each other “to get girls” last semester: We should have traded you to Kappa Sig for a box of lube when we had the chance.
To the girls at the frat party who made me do two keg stands and then carried my nonresponsive body to the lobby of Hillel, assumedly because I was wearing a yarmulke: ???? ?? ??????!
To Leah Popowich-Hohns: Hey, it’s me. I'm still single and sad to learn that your marriage survived the first year. What will it take to get you back? Setting your husband up with another woman? Letting you know that he’s infertile? Love, Your very creepy stalker alum.
To the frat reject in Advanced Negotiations: You know you’ve got problems when you’re considered too douchey for Castle. Props for taking a class that involves peer grading.
To the gorgons in Cinema 102: You might think that your constant chatter distracts from your facial "situations", but let’s be real: that’s impossible.
To the sun lover in Castle: Please stop making drunk advances toward me. It stopped being funny after I caught you masturbating to pictures of me in a bathing suit our freshman year. Love, Hill 592
To the Pi Kapp ginger who got me into bed with a fake Australian accent: Girls, beware, there's not much down under.
