HE said: Signing Off

I’d describe Mock Wedding in a single word, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t fly with The Mirror editors. Let’s just say if I had to pick a word to rhyme with the one I’d like to use, it would be “spit-show.”

Normal people would consider an hour bus ride with no air-conditioning on a 75-degree day to be a bad thing. They’d expect that situation to become a catastrophe since they earlier stuffed themselves into a three-piece suit and spent the afternoon assaulting their bodies with various alcoholic pollutants. I considered that bus ride the best I can remember.

Normal people would consider losing two hours of open bar to be a setback. The class of ’07 stepped their drinking up to DefCon One levels and made the party happen while Aqua Turf management threw a collective hissy fit.

But the Mock Wedding was more than just a “spit-show.” It marked the beginning of the end for the class of ’07, which will now be faced with a series of “lasts.” The last week of class, the last final and the last time that some of us will ever see one another again.

Well, here is my first “last” (if that makes any sense): the last He Said. It’s been a hell of a run embarrassing friends and family on a weekly basis with some of the inappropriate things I’ve written. They might be relieved it’s finally over, but I’ll miss it.

I just want to thank the little people that read this article on a weekly basis for their undying love and support. You helped make me quasi-famous this year and for that, all eleven of you should be proud.

I’m also proud. I fulfilled my promise this year to keep it real. Yes, sometimes the content has been complete poppycock, but I didn’t embellish a thing and I don’t for a second regret every instance of debauchery I’ve recounted or every asinine statement I’ve made.

Meg kept it real as well, in print and in life. Sometimes she needed to be forced by the authorities to keep it real. It’s okay Meg, there’s a little bit of sexual deviant in all of us. Just a bit more than average in you. (Sorry Meg. I know, it’s the pot calling the kettle black).

At this point I’m rambling like Paulie Walnuts. The previous paragraphs have been my foreplay to a climatic goodbye. Following suit, that goodbye will be anything but climatic, just disappointingly quick and unsatisfying. So here you go: Peace, I’m outta here.