Well, folks, here we are. It’s been over three years since my byline first graced the print of this glorious page, as I regaled you with tales of my roomate and his abusive genitals. Since then, we’ve been through it all, from Doug Bennet’s assassination attempt, to the fall of the Mocon Wall, to that lone brave student standing up to a tank in Traverse Square. But as I look back on these tumultuous times we shared together, the only words I can find belong not to myself, but to quote the great Billy Joe Armstrong of Green Day:

Another turning point, a fork stuck in your chode,
Drinking Sierra Mist, Erector Set my nose,
So touch the breast on my chest, and don’t ask why
It’s not a WesWing, cut a lemon burned in lime.
It’s humping a dirigible, put on a belt that’s tight.
I lope too bad to climb with a knife.
I lope too bad to climb… with… a … knife.

All the love in the world,
Gelman. Gel. MAN.