AISU,

 

We, AISU’s first legacy class, the first class to start and end our high school careers with AISU, would like a refund. We’ve been with you through the thick and the thin, and stuck with a new, struggling high school from the very beginning, and we’ve decided that it wasn’t worth it. We’ve endured through Own It, Gradpoint, Buzz, GCE, Aleks, Mulberry, and many other incompatible curriculums you’ve changed on us every year, all of which have sucked. This is why we would like to kindly request that you return these 4 crucial developmental years we’ve given you over our high school careers immediately.

 

Make no mistake, there are some things we have enjoyed. These include Kelly, the performing arts (in years 2 and 3), and making fun of Mike Stumph. Despite this request, we are still thankful for these things and others. However, now that Kelly is gone and the performing arts once again sucks (and not only in rehearsals), we’ve begun to completely realize that, overall, our high school experience has been

 

NOTICE: we gave up on writing this letter less than halfway through, similar to how you gave up on giving us a quality education. Goodbye.

 

 

 

This is the last post that the Daily Gravy will ever make concerning current events around AISU. Posts made about previous AISU events are greatly unlikely, but still possible. We would rather not know what AISU is going to become in year 5 (or “AISU 5.0” as they’re likely calling it), and we will certainly not be posting about it. Things to look for from the Gravy include the full-length broadway musical “AISUsical,” shows such as “AISUPD,” and more, all of which focus purely on Farley-era AISU, and pretend it never ended. Wouldn’t that have been nice? This is goodbye to AISU, but not to the dream of what Farley-era AISU was and could be. It’s just a see-you-later to our Farley-era dreams. We’ll think of you every time we have to retake our G.E.D., when reading our cease-and-desist orders from colleges we’ve applied to 157 times, or when clipping our toenails on the concrete floor of the homeless shelters we live in—unless you’re one of those really successful performing arts kids (you know who you are); they’ll think of you every time they step outside of their multi-billion dollar mansion or happen to pass nearby Murray, UT, in one of their private helicopters. Either way, goodbye to the building and the ugly carpet and the new management, but just “see you later” to the Farley-era dream and what came with that. We will keep you alive the best we can (without actually doing anything responsible or considerably difference-making).