I was determined not to write a raging cheesefest of a final column, but in the interest of bidding you fine people adieu, some failbloggage may have gone down. The least I can do is promise that you will not be exposed to any inspirational Eleanor Roosevelt quotes. Only time will tell if I‘ll look back on this column with pride or disgust. The years will age and perhaps even mature me a little, but my intuition tells me that when I‘m old and decrepit, that pervy ex-Catholic schoolgirl who grew up listening to Howard Stern over the breakfast table will continue to live on. Among the things that remain to be seen are whether or not I‘ve printed enough blasphemy to jeopardize my future third husband‘s mayoral campaign. The occurrence of this scenario is uncertain, but one thing I do know is that I will always have had this column. Even if I get kidnapped by pirates tomorrow. Even if I get into a freak gasoline fight accident. Even if I never write recreationally again. This was my turf, damnit. I was here. If I was more diligent, I would tally up the feelings I hurt and the bottles I emptied singlehandedly through this column, but, you know, I‘m not. This is not the most morally fibered or PC stuff out there. That‘s all I can really say to anyone who ever sent me an e-mail with a biblical rant on how offensive I am. While I firmly believe that everyone is more than within their rights to voice disagreement, I beseech that you don‘t force yourselves to read anything that so torments you. It‘s not good for the soul. Hostess cupcakes are good for the soul. My aim this year was to entertain more than it was to inform. That being said, even if you only drew a mustache and devil horns on my photograph on a weekly basis, I sincerely hope that at some point I made you smile. If there‘s anything I‘ve learned, it‘s that life is full of surprises. Sometimes the moments of sheer madness hold the most joy. You can find yourself running wild on a field with people you don‘t know in the middle of the night, stay up talking until the sun comes up and laying on a roof under a star-filled sky while no fewer than 18 drunks belt out Whitesnake‘s “Here I Go Again“ on the floor below you. I once read this story of a dude who had a threesome with two really hot girls and said that no matter how awesome his life got, he knew that he would always remember that night as the greatest night of his life and could die happy at any moment. While I hope my greatest is a little more meaningful, I gotta say I‘m kind of jealous that he could be so certain of his satisfaction with life. That sounds pretty supreme to me. On that note, here‘s some last-minute advice … Don‘t be too afraid of being weird. We all have a few loose screws, some admittedly more than others. There are many people out there in the world. At least a handful are bound to think that your weirdness is kind of endearing, maybe even cute. Just don‘t distortedly interpret this to mean that it‘s okay to produce kiddie porn in your garage or anything. I know that this comes dangerously close to breaking the Sapometer, but follow your dreams. At worst, you could end up shuffling along the Sunset Strip in your undies, stripped of your dignity and your wallet. Even if that does happen, always keep in mind that tomorrow is another day and your mother‘s basement will always have a cot with your name on it. On Apr. 11, five players on the Ultimate Frisbee team at the University of Oregon decided against wearing pants. Consequently, the school forced the team to end their season early. The team‘s defense was that there‘s nothing wrong with playing without pants. It‘s on this note that I conclude that I believe in the freedom of choice, and that most definitely includes the choice of whether or not to wear pants.
MICHELLE RICK urges you to be the now or never kind and do the now or never thing. Send your feelings to firstname.lastname@example.org or just hit up a yogurt shop and eat them.