Hey there, Tartan baby. We hear you have a gremlin problem in your server room. We just want you to know we’re here for you, no matter what you might be hiding in your closet. Gremlins, skeletons, herpes, we won’t judge.
It’s been some time since we’ve really sat down and had a page-to-page talk. How’s it been, just down the hall? Sometimes we just seem so distant. Probably because it’s hard for a floppy newspaper and flimsy newsletter to make any directed movements at all.
I just want to feel the brush of your color pages, somewhere a little more private than the newsstands we share around campus. We could share so much more, if you would just give us a chance. There’s always room on our website if your copy needs a place to stay. We don’t have much, just a wordpress account, but we’d do anything for you.
As the days get colder, it would be nice to have someone to collate with. It might start with a little sheaf rustling, but as things got steamier, our ink would run together and we wouldn’t be able to tell your colors from my black-and-white. Your type and mine might not seem like a good match, but I assure you, once we start giving print jobs none of that would matter.
I hear rumors you’ve been hanging out with that Jewish porno, the Cut, or with the Thistle. The Cut’s alright, but the yearbook’s a little prickly, don’t you think? We never had any binding, and our relationship was purely for the readership, but it still stings a little to see you sharing your rack.
I might have some issues, but you know you won’t get a better masthead from any of those other pandering publications. There might be some typos here and there, and if we schedule a date, I’m liable to miss it, or show up an hour late, but I swear I can improve. I just need a second chance. I tried to surprise you with the Onion, but you just ended up with tears in your eyes.
Just an open letter, to tell you that I’m always up for some word play if you are.