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Open Letter from Alma Mater: Please Leave Me Alone

My Dearest Students, 


I’m baaaaaaaaack! Getting nestled back into my spot these past few months has been spectacular. While I was being repaired I missed the UIUC campus more than anyone could possibly imagine and it’s been wonderful seeing all you crowding around me again. I’ll admit, it was kind of nice having a year-and-a-half-long break, but my supports feel well-rested and I’m eager to start up a full semester back in the C-U.  


But since I got back last April there have been a few issues I’ve felt a need to address. During my time away, I forgot how crazy you kids can get, and ole’ Alma needs to lay down a few ground rules to start off the new school year on the right foot. 


First, the pictures where you’re all pretending to be me have got to stop. I don’t care if you think you’ve got my pose down or if you’ve got my perfect motherly gaze, you’re not me. You will never be me. You may have had your fun and games posing on my podium while I was gone, but I’ve been holding this shit down since 1929 and there’s no room for imposters. I’ve been trying to get the university to engrave “Bad Bitches Only” onto the side of my base for years, but until that happens you had all better heed this warning.  


Also, you lazy assholes need to stop sticking your chewed gum all over me. There are literally four trashcans within sight of me right now. I don’t want to ruin my fresh bronze finish. I look good and you all know it, so don’t ruin it by placing your fat wads of saliva on my freshly-polished robe.  


Although annoying, those first two offenses are only minor ones. I think this should go without saying, but you all had better stop drunkenly fingerblasting each other all over me. I’ve seen some freaky shit in my 80+ years and I can’t take it much longer. As a mother of this university, it’s hard enough to watch my children engage in any type of that strange, but the things I have seen and heard would make that dirty-talking Robert Easter look twice. I can’t count how many times people have sung “Hail to the Orange” while doing the dirty against my base. It’s messed up, the way each thrust is met with each new line of the song, and every single climax is completed while shouting “VARSITY,” as if the football team actually won a game. I’m deeply scarred, and any time that song is played, I swear I start rusting just a little bit faster. 


And for the love of god, STOP PEEING ON ME. On an average night, I’m pissed on at least 12 times. The flowers don’t “need watering” and I don’t “need a bath,” so find somewhere else to relieve yourself besides my legs. I don’t care that you’ve “broken the seal already” and “need somewhere to go right now” or that you think it would be funny to aim for my eye. The amount of dried urine I was covered in was the reason I had to go get restored in the first place. If this continues, then I’ll be due for touch-ups every damn year. 


Students, all I ask is that you adhere to these rules. I love this university and all of you very much, but c’mon, give me a little break. I’ve got high hopes for the school year. Especially if you remember this simple piece of advice: Grainger Bob is a nerdy bastard, go commit these foul acts against him.



Alma Mater

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