By Stacy Lace
Columnist
My dearest Jack,
All semester, journalistic chemistry has been building between us. You’ve felt it; I’ve felt it. From the moment you offered me a shout-out in your column about “Bucknell girls,” I couldn’t take my mind off of you. I feel the time has finally come for me count the ways in which I love you. Since I really only know you from afar, I’m mainly focusing on the way you have entrapped me with your column. However, I will of course reference our few non-Bucknellian almost-interactions.
- I love that the first time I heard your name, it was during a game of “Where the Wind Blows.” Apparently, a large percentage of my sorority also loves you … and has proved it on several occasions.
- I love that as a guy at the peak of his physical prowess, you’re unable to run up and down a basketball court for a reasonable amount of time. It helps me to think of your skills as perfect for a quickie.
- I love that you drink almost every night and that your excessive alcohol intake causes you to frequent Taco Bell. I myself am a fan of the Crunchwrap Supreme.
- I love that you told us all about your college bucket list. I wonder which tasks you’ve managed to accomplish in your time here. While I know that at some point you “got naked” and rocked a tank top, I wonder if you had the opportunity to shower at the Bison, take a philosophy class or spend a weekend sober.
- I love that you accept that my day and night behavior are drastically different. I love that you accept my Thursday morning “walk to class of shame” outfit of leggings and a baseball cap. I’m partial to my navy University cap, but I’d rock one supporting any sports team you’re a fan of.
- I love that you created an entire “I love” list about the strange things you love. I, too, love warm leather, rice and America.
- I love the way you refer to your belly as a Franzia wine bag. Clearly, six packs don’t do it for me; it’s all about the Franzia.
- I love that you have perfected the Super Saturday. No one at the University has been able to truly catch my eye when I’m in my afternoon drunken haze. I now know that the height at which a guy stands is really what draws me in and gets me hot. Boys should truly take note of you.
- I love that you expect to see women in their bikinis. I understand how this objectifies my sex, but I’ll be honest: if I get to check out your Franzia belly, shouldn’t you get to check out mine?
- I love that when I told you I would write you a love letter your response was “That’s awesome! But make sure I look like a sex god so all the girls want me.” Yes. That happened.
So long, Jack. Next year, I’ll have to find a new “sex god” to worship from afar. Any suggestions?
Totally at the bar with Wiley Jack right now! Should I do a little karaoke and booty shaking to impress?
As the year comes to a close, I’d like to extend my sincerest compliments and appreciations to Stacey Lace for writing this column. It has brought lots of color and controversy to our usual banal campus publication. Not many people have the courage to expose the truths about the uncouth and wanton nature of Bucknell’s social life.
OMG. Just saw Wiley Jack at the bison. Totally going to walk in the opposite direction so he doesn’t see me
hahahaha
My Dearest Stacey Lace,
I love how wait until the last newspaper of the semester to write this completely unprovoked and repulsive attack against one of your fellow contributors.
While the concept for your column was a great, albeit unoriginal idea (Carry Bradshaw, anyone?), I’ve had the opportunity to watch you flounder all semester as you tried to tackle big girl issues. This week’s column is a great display of the immature girl I’ve suspected you’ve been all along.
Sincerely,
Repulsed (see I can be brave behind a fake name too).
Stacey Lace, my love, my heart has written for you a song of my affection:
Ever in my heart you rest,
my muse and uplifter of spirit,
idealizing the lives of our friends.
Let thy spirit that you write from above.
Yielding to naught in the depths of the stone–
graciously guarding the truth from the shadows,
ubiquitous specters your swan swoops.
Into the light you bring;
Laying on the lush grass!
Laying on the labor of thee,
enigma to many thine reality maybe,
never shall that keep us apart.
–Can’t wait until next semester. Keep it up!
Why?
Oh the Vane sisters would be proud!
Exposed!
Haha! I thought Stacey Lace had the hots for Joe Wilman, guess not!