To: Wes of 1950

Ayo dawg,

What the fuck is this shit? Khakis? Polos? Short hair parted on the side? Look, I know we’ve had our differences, but you look like the cast of “Leave It To Beaver” spawned a testosterone-snorting love child with Mr. Rogers. I can hardly look Williams in the eye.

Okay, that was a bit harsh. I apologize. Sincere-ishly. But here’s the deal: some changes need to take place. You gotta trust this bro Butterfield—he knows what’s up, and he’s got one word to change your life: Westco. You’re gonna get some girlies soon, too. The all-male thing ain’t working out; Foss Hill tells me the sexual tension is, like, totally killing the vibe. Today we have a whole spectrum of gender, like mad genders yo, and there’s a party at Freshmen Orientation called—but I should save that for my next letter.

So please—get your act together, you quasi-Methodist, sissy-boy mutts. I’ll be waiting . . . with hall snacks.

Fondly,
Wesleyan University, 2010