Yes, I heard the music and the drunk white people crying when the Smirnoff Sangria ran out. I couldn’t ignore it. You know, it really hurt to hear everyone have so much fun and not have one single person invite me. I know James McGill was too busy harassing minorities on Lower Field, but surely someone had to have thought of me as they passed through my gates? I am so upset. Once I write a poem about this pain I feel, it’s over for you hoes.