A Graduation Farewell, from the Flipside Seniors

September 18, 2020 1:25 pm
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A Graduation Farewell, from the Flipside Seniors

Editor’s Note: The following was pre-written in September 2019, back when we were young, naïve, and smokin’ hot with bangin’ bods. Still relevant? You be the judge. But we’re sure as hell not revising. That shit’s for English majors and cuckolds.

Editor’s Favorite Fish: Beluga Whale, the biggest fish in the g-d sea

We did it! After an epic senior spring, we’re finally graduating. Can’t believe we just played BP at Terman for the last time. It’s been such a wonderful year of health, happiness and racial solidarity. Now who’s ready to party? Us! We love it. We’re all busy getting ready for our graduation parties that will have 50-100 people in attendance, but before we go kiss our elderly grandparents on the mouths, we wanted to say a lil’ goodbye. 

Everything is falling into place for us. The economy is booming, and we all have jobs lined up for the coming year. Whether you’re going to be a “good and responsible police officer” or a staffer on the ascendant Pete Buttigieg presidential campaign, it’s a good time to be employed, healthy, and broadly unconcerned with the intricacies of international human rights policy vis-à-vis the deployment of tear gas on civilian populations.

Look, when we started out, we never thought The Flipside would win the first Pulitzer Prize for satirical journalism (editor’s note: it didn’t). We never thought we would start so many dynamic conversations (editor’s note: they didn’t), make so many students laugh (editor’s note: you bet your sweet ass we did), and spend so much money on printing things that immediately become placemats in Ricker Dining. Sustainability who?

In the past four years, we made a few mistakes! And we read some angry emails in response to them! But in spite of our liberal use of arguably outdated slurs for the Irish, we hope you found some value in our articles and our goal of reframing the absurdity that is Stanford. Or at least skimmed them before flipping over to the rebus puzzles, you little dummies. And for that, we have to thank Grant C., Puzzle Master, Archery Champion, and Mommy’s Best Boy. 

Regardless, we want to say thank you for sticking with us. Even when your only alternative was the Stanf*rd Occasion*lly. And even when we published an entire issue about our cancelled NASA internships, too many articles about MILFs, not enough articles about Big Bugs, and the perfect amount of teeth takes.

Our lives would have never crossed paths if it weren’t for the Flipside. We were four social outcasts: the freak, the space-cadet, the recluse, and the one with glasses. But this beautiful thing we call a “satirical newsletter” was a communal shelter from the storm of insults and rotten cabbage being hurled at us by our peers in J*****ro and O**ro. 

We were no one. We were nothing. Until we found The Flipside. We love it. And we hope you do too. 

Cheers, the Wilbur Brunch Club.

Mags, Macriki, Brian (5’2” 75 lbs, Toros Rising), & Robin 8==0==D~

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