The Eighth Page

Phillipian Satire: It’s a Reach: Successful Email Request from Student Who Needs to Go Home

Dearest Dean Dr. Farmer,


I hope this email finds you in the highest of spirits, maybe walking around the Knoll during a downpour or devising a three-part essay prompt to spring onto your sleep-deprived students! Unfortunately, I am in the lowest of spirits as I try to imagine spending another weekend here at the Academy.


To be frank, I need to go home because this chick had this absurd glow-up, and we’ve been snapping a LOT lately. It’s like Lil Tecca said: “I got shawties tryna pull up to my place.” And trust me, I’m not misinterpreting anything— this girl is definitely into me. She leaves me on open for hours because she is so entranced by my good looks that she can’t even function! Unfortunately, we can’t link at school because she lives in Connecticut. You feel me, right?


Don’t get me wrong, the “shawties” here at school have excellent personalities—some of the best out there! And I love spending Saturday nights on the lawn with nothing but grass and mosquitos. But people like you and I need something more stimulating, Dr. Farmer. Isn’t that why you chose to be a dean, more hands-on interaction with student drama? The same thrill you get from hunting for drugs in a kid’s dorm room, I get from scouring my parent’s liquor cabinets, so you should understand my desire.


At the minimum, it’s for my mental health. My warning counselor told me to prioritize rest for my well-being and that I’d be extremely relaxed at home with my girl. Especially since this is the one weekend I don’t have a JV2 soccer game or a chem test on Monday, I won’t fall behind in anything. The stars have aligned!


Sure, call me “down bad” or “desperate” or an “alcoholic.” Some of these things may even be true! But it’s not just a phase, Dr. Farmer, it’s a lifestyle. And my lifestyle requires many activities that simply aren’t possible here at school.


I’ll leave you with a quote from one of the greatest lyricists, dare I say literary giants, of all time: Pitbull. “For all we know, we might not get tomorrow.” All I’m asking for is one night. Please, Dr. Farmer.


With perpetual misery and unreasonable optimism,

Der Notrot