It's like Tuesdays with Morrie, only, instead of talking about feelings, we talk about food and racist puns.

Hello, folks. Glad to see you could make it. Just pull up a chair, relax, maybe kick up your feet and put on your comfy underwear (you know, the ones that smell like gefilte fish and symmetric holes on each butt cheek). It’s not going to be a typical column today; no, no promiscuous freshmen with delusions of grandeur, nor no Batman-inspired Pokemon-derived sex jokes (Wait, what the hell? Why are you reading this parenthetical? …Did you really want to see something like that? Oh, god, no! Pervert). Just a senior, 4 years of lessons, and a glass of Wawa Chocolate milk scotch.

From what I hear, to live is to have regrets. Perhaps I should’ve worked harder, studied less, and overall, never eaten at Commons. But hey, that’s life, right? You can’t be perfect in every respect, just like that conjunction at the beginning of the previous sentence. Shit happens, and sometimes you just need to move on.

As far as I am aware, Penn, for me, is over. Sure, there are some minor technicalities standing in my way of graduation (three finals and sex under the button, shameful crying under the button). The good thing is, I’d say I’ve learned a lot. Sure, classes, there are religions other than Judaism, respecting women blah blah blah blah blah, let’s talk about what matters. Consider this my “Last Lecture”, but more bittersweet, and less about death. I mean, yikes.

See famous public speakers. Not because they will inspire you, because, let’s be honest, sometimes they won’t. I mean if Joseph Gordon Levitt’s speech on twitter being significant did it for you, I am more than glad. Sometimes, though, you’ll be lucky enough to see someone in power who is a real idiot, and they will make you feel good about yourself. If Newt Gingrich could have an affair, so can I!

Talk to Wharton students, they’ll make you feel smart and busy.
Don’t talk to ditzy sorority sisters, they’ll make you feel dumb when you realize they’re doing better than you in organic chemistry.

Don’t think you’re special; an internship at the White House doesn’t make you Bill Clinton (and masturbating in the White House bathroom won’t help you so stop trying).
Know that you can do great things, because the Daily Pennsylvanian can maintain a readership, anything is possible.

Above all else, however, Punch Bowl has been my greatest teacher (no means no, yes means pregnancy, and things are funnier in threes, so don’t worry about making sense, just tack that last bad-boy on there!). Be honest with who you are and make an effort, and people will respect you (except you, that kid, and we know your number, so please stop calling). Everyone has bad jokes, but it’s better to fail than to come un-prepared (apparently writing things down during the meeting after someone else has already said them doesn’t count). Don’t worry about titles! Being editor-in-chief does not make your jokes funnier than anyone else (just the creative control; for examples, see list of cereals ☺). Laugh too much! People may look at you, but hey you should enjoy what you’re doing goddamnit. That being said, don’t laugh at Sam, you’ll only encourage him. Get a column, and experiment with it! If you already know your voice, you’re doing it wrong – except Jonah; you can never do anything wrong with those shoes. Also
If you feel like you don’t fit in, shut the fuck up. At the very least, writing a column about that and calling it meta won’t get you the acceptance you so seek (hipsters, I’m looking at you).

OH yeah I mentioned regrets; I should probably get to that. I regret not being a better Punch-Bowl-er (Punch Bowl-ist, Punch-Bowl-ologist?). There, I said it (and if it’s on the internet, it must be true). Too many missed meetings, too many missed columns. What’s done is done, and the past only exists to tell us how to act in the present. That being said, MICHELLE, GO TO THE MEETINGS. Sean’s drunk with power on the notes, and we miss you.

(I do not regret you caressing my leg, though, Piskai, but that one stays between us, Effy’s, and the waitress.)

FRESHMEN, SOPHOMORES, and THAT PRE FROSH WHO VOMITTED OUTSIDE WENDY’S, get your act together and make Punch Bowl your home. It’s a good place to be and please, don’t share my regrets, work hard (Oh wait there was distribution today? Oh shiiii-)

As Shai said, “It’s been really cool guys.”

P.S. Oh, Lance, you totally didn’t write “Dear Berkman” on my bowl on purpose. Still, oddly fitting.

P.P.S. <3 images of Bob going feet-first out of a dressing room, beards of bees, and anyone I didn’t’ mention. I’d say your names, but given the frequency I dream about you, I don’t want things to get weird.

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