Well folks, the time has come for us to depart.
Spring semester last year found me in a precarious state. With nothing to look forward to after graduating, I consoled myself to a life of watching "Home Improvement" marathons and peddling beer and chicken wings.
While my options for the future have not really changed since then - despite trying really, really hard to get into graduate school - I decided the only way I'm going to do anything significant with my life is to invent the future for myself.
So while the rest of you laze your summer days away by throwing spare change at elementary school children just to watch them fetch it, I plan on taking the first steps toward living life, which I've chosen to outline for you all here.
Join me one last time, friends, on the guided tour of my grand adventure. And when you hear the bell, be sure to take another shot before turning the page.
Beginning in May, I'll be traveling to Milwaukee to camp out in front of the Miller Brewing Company headquarters. After executives find me day after day, asleep at their door covered in a blanket strewn together of emptied Miller High Life cans and dental floss, they will note my extreme - nay, perverse - dedication to their fine product and promote me to Junior Vice President of Marketing.
When they discover that I have no marketing experience whatsoever, they will demote me to Assistant Driver of the High Life Cruiser, which is my dream job, anyway.
After a successful decade-long run at the brewery, I will be fired for overt stealing of merchandise and sent to rehab to treat my pony-keg-a-day habit. This will send me into severe emotional distress, which will cause me to embark on my 2018 love affair with Dos Equis' The Most Interesting Man in the World.
Yes. That will show them.
Our nine month tryst will bring numerous parties with rap stars and hip-hop legends whom I will impress with my feigned knowledge of fossil hominids, leading me to abandon the man whose blood smells of cologne and join P-Diddy's entourage for the next four years.
The year 2023 will bring global travel, as I hastily marry an up-and-coming Colombian drug kingpin introduced to me by Suge Knight, who also dabbles in watercolor painting and singing Bob Dylan covers at various South American folk music showcases. Our marriage will be cinematically portrayed by Brendan Fraser and Elizabeth Hurley in "Tangled Up in Blow: The Heather Hull Story," to be aired on the Lifetime Network for years to come.
When the marriage finally dissolves, I'll spend the next eight years in a small community of Steely Dan enthusiasts who follow the band in a dilapidated school bus from casino venues to state fair gigs across the country where I'll attempt to sell my infamous needlepoint renderings of cast members from "Reno: 911."
This period of my life will also be made into a movie called "Reelin' in the Tears: The Heather Hull Story, Part Deuce," also to be shown on the Lifetime Network. Brendan Fraser will be replaced by Kelsey Grammar however, as he will be busy filming "The Mummy 37."
At this point it will be 2054, and at age 71, my life will have completely collapsed into disarray. Riddled with a past of lost love, bad Pixy Stix trips and a near-overdose on bling, I will hitchhike back to Tempe and probably crash at my parents' house for a while. Haggard with insomnia, I will wander back to the basement of the Matthew's Center and insist that I be given my old columnist job back.
This request will only be granted when I inform the staff that I have millions of dollars to my name from a poker game with the former president of Venezuela, which means I can afford to replace to burned out light bulbs in the newsroom.
Once again I will continue to make outdated "Borat" references, which will sufficiently mar the otherwise sage opinion pages for another decade or so.
Soon afterward, I will meet my demise in an ill-fated argument over a QuikTrip egg roll, and my next of kin will have my body properly disposed of by dressing it in a Neil Young T-shirt and blowing it up in a warehouse.
And so my friends, there you have it. I'll send you a postcard along the way. Ding.
Reach the reporter at: heather.hull@asu.edu.