A Love Letter

But, now that I'm a senior and because I will be leaving campus in about six months, I see no point in holding it back anymore. I've decided it's time. It's time to confront this issue and move on with my life. Deep breath.

Dear Strictly Funk: I have a raging hard-on for you. I always have.

I don't know what it is about you, but I have never been the same person since I saw you dance that one time my freshman year. You swept me off my feet. Since then, I have been obsessed with you. Sure, the fact you only come around twice a year does hurt sometimes, but whenever I see you again all is forgotten, as my pains and worries are washed away.

Watching you this weekend in Lights, Camera, Funk! only reinforced my sentiments. I don't know what it was exactly — it could have been the amazingly tight choreography, the well-produced video segments, the mindblowing lightshow, or your ability to convey social commentary through bodily movements — but I was once again mesmerized and could only think one thing: Strictly Funk = Sex (maybe it was that one song where you guys basically had sex on stage?).

I don't know what exactly I'm trying to accomplish by writing this, but I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. You are the love of my life, and I don't know what I'll do when we have to go our separate ways. I wish I could dance to impress you, but in the meantime, just keep doing what you are doing and know that you are, to me, the sexiest thing at Penn right now.