Dear Readers,
Boy, this production has been a wild ride. We’ve committed some heinous acts in the name of comedy. We forced one of our best friends to take his pants off in a cold basement so we could photoshop a dog licking peanut butter off his balls. Half of the editorial staff has thrown up multiple times in the making of this issue. We might have significantly deteriorated the health and mental well-being of our design editor. Many people would read this and say, “Gee, you guys seem like pretty bad editors.” This is a harsh but, no doubt, fair critique of our unique leadership style. “What do you have to say for yourselves,” you might ask. Our answer:
We had to fuck our way to the top.
Sure, it’s easy to judge from the outside looking in, but you don’t know the kind of fucking shit we’ve had to do to get to where we are now. Do you know how many UC administrators we had to bribe? Do you know how many dicks we had to suck in the Dwinelle men’s bathroom? Do you know how much blow we’ve had to procure for the ASUC? Do you know how many moms we had to fuck to get access to a dollhouse?
No, I guess you don’t. And you may be repulsed or disgusted by what we do (and once again, this is a fair assessment), but we do it out of love — love for comedy, for the magazine, for the staff, for our unborn children (may they live a better life than us), for our nation, and for our readers. In short, we’re not gonna stop fucking our way to the top, and if that means we have to fuck everyone on this goddamn Earth, then so be it.
God Bless,
Tejomay and Simona
