*Freeze frame*

I bet you’re wondering how I ended up in this situation.

Very few people know just how much Pluckers means to me. I’ll touch more on this later.

Everyone always starts these 30 columns with sappy thank yous and cliche farewells, so let’s get those out of the way.

Firstly, I’d like to thank Peter for being my biggest fan. No, definitely not in his critiques, but in the office, where I would frequently slay my fellow coworkers in ping pong matches. Every time Peter would compliment my elite ping pong skills, it would almost feel as good as sneaking the term “Mendoza Line” into a column. Oopsies.

Regardless of how good I am at table tennis, it has been comforting to assume all this time that the Texan advisor cares about me as a person (although I still don’t know this for a fact).

Ezra, Ty, Shap and Trent — thanks for employing ya girl and for being the greatest sports editors of all time. Also, shoutout to Rena, Juan and Forrest for always being human rays of sunshine in the basement that we’ve spent countless hours in (but for real, though, what does real sunshine look like?).

Everything I’ve done at the Texan has made me a better person, but I’m especially grateful for learning how to ask the tough questions. For example:

Which came first: the chicken or the egg?

Ironically, this question is similar to other silly ones my closest Texan friends and I would debate over chicken wings at Pluckers after long desk shifts.

Now we’re talking. I’ve realized it takes a certain kind of person to pluck the way that we do. Alex, the beef to my brocoree, Angela, my work wife, and Drew, my homie for life — these people are some of the most elite motherpluckers I know, and they’re also very special earthlings that have made me a very happy human.

Gabe, Kirsten and Andrea — they’re also avid pluckers, and I’m honored to call them best friends.

So there you have it, folks. Throughout my time at the Texan, I’ve learned one thing: chicken always comes first. Especially when you get to pluck with your dearest friends.

P.S. Check the first letter of every paragraph to find out the real reason why I went to Pluckers so often.