To Mask & Wig: Not inviting Bloomers to Comfest is like not inviting your drunk uncle to a wedding — nothing funny happens.
To every pre–med at Penn who thinks he or she’s smarter than a liberal arts major: Guess what, I’m better at sex.
To the closet druggie in my house who color–coded her prescription medication: Maybe it’s time to lay off the Adderall?
To the kid who thinks Allegros is pronounced "Allegrays": Get your shit together.
To the cheerleader who tried to get me to have a foursome: I didn’t read enough of "Fifty Shades of Grey"w for your fantasies.
To the Senior Superlatives: Most Irrelevant Publication.To the girl who we fought to give our house to who then asked for the money she paid us for furniture back 4 months later: We can’t think of anything meaner to say than last semester’s Shoutout about you.
To my early calc recitation on the 4th floor: Thank you for making me look out of shape.
To the TriDelt who threw up while giving me a blowjob in the woods: Thanks for finishing.
To Skulls: If only you were called Brains.
To St. A's: Thanks for the Romney poster during election season. Your political leanings would otherwise be a complete mystery.
To the Blonde TriDelt senior: The fact that you’re working at a Big 3 consulting firm would be more impressive if we didn’t all know Daddy bought you the job.
To our neighbors: We know you called the cops on us during Sandy. We stole your beer later, so we guess that makes us even.
To the world: Who’s ready for FISTMAS?!?!?!?!
To the Vagina Monologues: Thanks for the circle jerk (rub around?) that was your cast auditions.
To the overly friendly international student across the hall: For the first month of school I thought you had a twitch. I finally realized you were just trying to wink.
To the Theta Whartonite whose 15–year–old sister is infinitely hotter than her: At least you got the brains, right?
To the TFA Campus Coordinator: I haven’t responded to your e–mails in months and I took a job in investment banking. What else do I need to do to get you to stop e–mailing me?
To the stud down the hall who walks to the shower in his boxers: You’re the only reason we keep the door open.
To my suspicious roommates: I lied. I did eat the BBQ Fritos.
To the Theos boy who drunkenly took a flight back to Philly from abroad: You flew commercial?
To my bitchy vegan and vegetarian roommates: Sorryimnotsorry the apartment smelled like bacon for days.
To the cute girl in my Bio class: I like your glasses and I think we’d make a cute couple :)
To all the guys in my Bio class: I TOTALLY BANGED THAT CHICK WITH THE GLASSES!
To my excessively horny housemate: I can hear you yelling and moaning every time you jerk off. You should know: if you’re making that much noise alone, you’re probably doing it wrong.
To that SDT girl in Off The Beat: “Stay” is still stuck in my mind. As are your legs.
To Shoutouts: You are way less classy than Penn Compliments.
To Penn Compliments: Why you gotta make us look bad? Love, Shoutouts.
To my history class: It’s so over and done with.
To the girl who is obsessed with Mongols: I would dress up as Genghis Khan for you in bed.
To the person who designed FroGro: What were you smoking?
To the Linguistics PhD student subletter that lives in my house: WAKE UP, THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE. Just kidding. But now that you're up, can you help my with my Linguistics homework?
To the SDT girls: Passover is over. We can eat carbs now.
To the intelligent senior in my management recitation who never wears shoes: Will licking your toes help me get a job at McKinsey?
To the girl who sends multiple e–mails to the entire Psych 001 listserv asking us to like a Facebook page for a contest: Did you win?
To the kid who rode his unicycle in the frigid rain across College Green wearing shorts: You're an inspiration to aspiring arctic circus performers everywhere.
To the Penn Museum: ‘Tis Not the End of the World if I don’t see the Maya 2012 exhibit.
To the brother of the fraternity formerly known as AEPi who looks like a gorilla: You must be pleased with the name change.
To Harvest: I miss Marathon.
To everyone: Stop playing Gangnam Style.
To all the alumni who still write in Shoutouts: Is it sad that we do this?
To everyone abroad: We really have no problem with you not being here. Life is way less annoying and Smoke's isn’t as crowded. How does staying for the spring semester sound?
To the freshman guy that looks like a meatball: Stop looking so much like a meatball.
To all the people named Astrid at Penn: Why are there so many of you??!! It’s not a common name.
[Ed. note: we checked in the Penn directory…there are only two.]
To Penn Cru: Thanks for taking that shouting preacher’s place in front of Van Pelt and apologizing for religion’s evils. You’ve restored my faith in humanity.
To my roommate: He’s over you. You are never, ever, ever, getting back together.
To that girl on our floor who is transferring: We all know you’re a racist. We found your twitter.
To Kings Court electricity: Your shortcomings have not stopped me from submitting Shoutouts.
To the men’s rugby team: Thank you for having to trade shirts between matches. Love, all women.
To all the girls, everywhere: You’re allowed to make a move, too. Feminism and all that jazz.
To my housemate who takes shits and then neither wipes nor flushes: Get your shits together.
To the freshman girl who posted a picture of herself in a recording studio: “Money Can't Buy You Class.”
To the masturbating man I pass on my runs: When are you gonna stop beating off around the bush and ask me out already?
To our friend who broke up with her boyfriend months ago: YOU BROKE UP WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND MONTHS AGO!
To the late night cashier at FroGro: Thank you for not passing judgment as I purchase a pizza and white cheddar popcorn by myself week after week.
To my Locust housemate who made out with a homeless man on our front porch and then proceeded to give him her number when he returned the next day: Why???
To my friend who stole the eight ball from Drinker's: Is it likely that you’ll return it or should I ask again later? #JewishGrandmaGuilt
To Houston Market: There’s nothing like some double–sided tape to make my “paid” sticker seem brand new every time I want some food.
To the OTB musical director: You still look like Robert Pattinson.
To the new boy in OTB: You look the like the musical director.
To all the flamboyant guys who won’t come out of the closet: There’s gold at the end of this rainbow! We love you!
To my Intro to the Bible professor: Maybe I’d come to class more often if you incorporated more of your shirtless Israel trip pics into your slides.
To “I can smoke more than you because I have a penis”: You can’t. Stop trying.
To the pack of Penn Security Guards who thought the blue lights were part of the Septa Line: I fear for my safety.
To the boy in the Radian with the one–pound Yorkie: I’m sorry for reporting you to facilities. Next time don’t kick me out after we hook up.
To that Zete junior: we get it, you’re American, you can stop wearing red, white and blue.
To the girl who rolls her eyes at me and thinks I’m obsessed with her: Ugh, you’re right.
To my Language and Thought Professor: The Pope is NOT a bachelor!
To the creepy guy at Tap House who told me I looked like Michelle Branch: Tell me why you're here and who you are?
To the Chi O nurse who took a shot for every raindrop during the hurricane and didn’t even get drunk: YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT.
To my friend who met her lover on Twitter: I can’t even pick up a drunk guy at Kweder, let alone score in 140 characters or less. #jealous #twitstar
To Amy Gutmann: How long does it take you to iron your face in the morning?
To the Snapchat–obsessed roommate who sent me a thousand pics of her dog over Thanksgiving: That’s 3,000 seconds of I don’t give a shit.
To the girl in the Harrison Rooftop Lounge who can’t whisper: Go die.
To the guy who works at the microfilm desk at Van Pelt: You are super cute and I was looking at that vintage porn FOR A CLASS, I promise!
To the incessant chatterbox parading as a PSCI honors student: We’ve been timing you this semester. You’ve wasted 51:09 minutes of our lives this semester. Shame on you.
To the TEP junior abroad in Israel: I quite enjoyed giving you Dome of the Cock.
To you know who you are: I did not tell people that you asked me to lick your butt! Though I sort of wish I had at this point. You are being such a bad sport.
To that girl in the quad with the poop fetish: You can lick my butt any day.
To the ginger who asked me to lick his butt: I’m sorry for telling your entire frat. And now I guess I’m sorry for telling the entire school.
[Ed. note: Who knew that Shoutouts could work as a weird poop–fetish matchmaking service...]
To that ZBT guy who licked my face at one of their parties: That’s gross. Don’t lick faces.
To the Member of the Tribe in Masala: Your matzah balls. My naan. All Friday night long.
To Mask & Wig: Can I get some chicken with all that jerk?
To the guy who comes an hour late to lecture and then leaves to get sushi to eat during lecture: I respect how few fucks you give.
To the girl who didn’t get a bid from Theta and dressed up as a Theta girl for Halloween: Stop. People can see you.
To the super sexy Harrison GA: What are the rules about dating undergrads?
To the guys of Cru who will walk me home at any hour of the day or night, no questions asked: Thanks for showing me that chivalry isn’t dead.
To the junior girls who dressed up as “methadone clinic escapee heroine addicts at the 38th and Spruce Wawa” for Halloween: Fucking bravo.
To the Critical Writing Program: you're like Ritalin — Penn makes us take you.
To the woman I almost gave a heart attack to while flyering: Locust Walk is not for the faint of heart.
To my roommates: Stop being around so much. I need time to walk around naked.
To Bill Clinton: Your speech was so great. We finally understand how you were able to talk Monica into bed.
To Thanksgiving: You're useless! I sleep 12 hours a day and binge eat everyday anyway.
