‘She Was The Lin-Manuel Miranda Of Feminist Tirades, Grandma Jokes, And Sending Drunk Messages To The GroupMe,’ They’ll Say By Elizabeth Spilman

How could I possibly condense the affection I have for each of my fellow editors, the appreciation I have for my unabashedly supportive family and friends, and my immense pride and trust in the writers who will succeed me on this paper into 250 brief yet poignant words? If Lin-Manuel Miranda had to do it, he would write a rap, because he knows his wheelhouse and sticks to fucking form.

In this spirit, I want to extend my sincere gratitude and appreciation for my time on this staff by doing the only things I know how: complaining about misogyny, making fun of my family, and getting a little drunker than I meant to.

To my fellow editors Madi, Erich, Andrew, Peter, Suzy, and Ish, who had to suffer the full force of my rantings and who so graciously indulged me in them if only to shut me up, thank you for your support and advice, your willingness to improve, your dedication to this paper and its staff, and of course, for emailing people back when I didn’t want to. I’d choose you six every time.

Thank you to my family for doing things like taking me to Ikea just to see an Ikea, ordering massive entrees at restaurants and then complaining about how big they are for the entire meal, and for giving me a full rundown of every car you’ve owned, completely unprompted. You have inspired my best material and still want me to bring you copies every time I come home.

To the writers: my minions, my perfect children, and the future of this illustrious rag, the nights I have spent getting drunk with you, or at least getting drunk around you, are some of my best memories of the last four years. I relish our time together sitting around making fun of Loren’s acting career for no reason, making fun of Grant Strobl’s career for good reason, and crushing hard on Tom West when he came around. I know that you will carry on the legacy of lampooning this campus and getting into Dionysian debauchery on the weekends.

So, who’s gonna split this bottle of wine with me?

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