To the Wizard of Farts (WoF): your senior year has finally come, and with it a whole new rain of olfactory terror on Penn’s campus. May you fart with the fury of 1,000 White Walkers in your penultimate semester.
To the senior boy who came too early: thanks for sticking around for "Remember the Titans."
To Kate the waxer at Adolf Biecker: how does it feel to know you’ve seen more pussy than any frat guy at Penn?
To “You Know Who You Are”: the twinkle in your eye and your cutie smile makes me want to massage your mismatched shoulder. Let me wear your flaming hot red sweatshirt and be your dumb, short, Indian girl.
To my anxious roommate: I do take photos of you when you’re sleeping. You look so peaceful.
To Osiris Senior Singing Society: what? Enough.
To the Asian girl at Pottruck: the machines are for weights, not selfies.
To the elderly man who rides a scooter: right on.
To the Nutrition Trio: can I be the glycerol to your fatty acids? Like a triglyceride? #passfail
To the male swimmer who peed in my dryer: fuck you.
To AirPennNet: why are you the only thing that goes down on me?
To cats: I look at you guys on the internet ALL THE TIME.
To Hat Tim: you’re way more fun than regular Tim.
To the liquor store on 43rd and Chestnut: my arms and thighs thank you.
To all religiously–affiliated groups on campus: I only believe in Holy Guacamole.
To Shake Shack/Yogorino: Come closer. Closer. Closer still.
To the girl with the medical boot: you look good with your hair down. You should do that more often.
To HipCityVeg banana whips: you realize Ben & Jerry’s is next door, right?
To the Greek Lady honey mustard: why don’t you come with a straw?
To the girl in med sociology always rockin’ the snooki–esque hair poof: fuck them haterz gurl you keep doin you.
To the Bryn Mawr student who speaks incessantly in my seminar: you don’t even go here.
To the A’s boy who couldn’t get it up: don’t worry, Daddy will buy you some Viagra.
To my hot blonde linguistics TA from Iceland: let’s ReykjaFuck.
To the sexy Arab pre–dental senior: I would love for you to play around in my mouth.
To the girl with the rainbow collection of kippahs: it gets better.
To HubBub: I can’t wait to come home from abroad and hang out in you!
Dear Tabard: how many self–righteous feministas does it take to feel empowered?
To the Class of 2014: welcome to the rest of senior year, where everything is made up and the points don’t matter.
To the guy who is doing crazy stuff with his sock game: all of his socks match his pants every day. It’s crazy.
To my housemate who keeps leaving the door open: we live in West fucking Philadelphia.
To the SAE senior who apparently lost his virginity to Pregnant by R. Kelly: risky business, eh?
To Wawa: if an SDT drunk-eats a hoagie but blacks out later that night, did she even eat it at all?
To a certain junior who kicked me out of his room in the middle of the night: you are not a secret agent. No one sent you a message at 3 a.m. notifying you to my lack of security clearance.
TO THE COMPUTER CONNECTION: WHY CAN’T YOU FIX THE CAPS LOCK KEY ON MY KEYBOARD? I’M ACTUALLY A VERY TIMID PERSON.
To Hugh Jackman: keep doing your thing man. Not sure if you have time to read this. But man, how cool would that be? Fucking wolverine, man. Awesome. What a guy.
To the trail mix I just bought at Wawa: da fuq was with that nut to M&M ratio? God damn. I thought this was America. If I wanted mixed nuts I would have bought ’em.
To Amy Gutmann: I know what you did to all those Argentinians in the Poconos. You won’t get away with this!
To Lay’s Family Size Potato Chips: WHAT KIND OF FAMILY ARE YOU TRYING TO SERVE?? A FAMILY CANNOT LIVE ON POTATOES ALONE.
More shoutouts at noon!