Light up that cigarette, turn down the goddamned music, wipe the goop off your face and let your roommate back into the room; believe it or not, this is it.

Time to say goodbye to the ol’ hump for a few months.

This year got behind me faster than a – insert your own prison sex joke here. I mean, I feel like it was only yesterday that I first made my way into the Daily Nexus office, skateboard in hand, pot smoke in dome piece, and began “working.” I throw up the quotes because, looking back, it’s a struggle to accurately use that string of letters as a sincere label for the things that went down here in the Wednesday Hump. And while I’m still unsure what to call getting paid to Google “clitoral hood” and “deep throat” rest assured that it is sans apprehension when I say I will miss the living crap out of it.

It’s said that time flies when you’re having fun rolling with Marty McFly, so if the 2004 Fall Quarter Schedule of Classes still lingering in my backpack can be used as a barometer for the fun I’ve had writing for you, it’s not hard to imagine why I’m having such a hard time saying goodbye.

Here it is, Tuesday night, and I’m already starting to feel the moist penetration of nostalgia in the most sensitive parts of my body. There was just so much bat-shit-crazy shit that went down this year that I never got to write about, behavior coming out of classmates that I wouldn’t have expected from the drunkest hookers at Mardi Gras eating Everclear Jell-O shots.

In trying to wrap the year up, the weightless words “better than sex” keep erecting themselves in the denim trousers of my mind. I say that they are weightless because, after talking to you guys week after week about what “sex” has come to represent, the ol’ penis-vagina/buns just isn’t what it should be.

If you’re going to tell me that moistening your genitals in the name of revenge, rebounding or attention craving is a good thing, then you’re crazy. Don’t let yourself be used in the name of someone else’s dipshit crusade.

If you’re going to tell me that cheap beer, one orgasm, sneaking out before dawn and a hookup who gets you to come over with a text message is sex, then I will tell you I can think of a million things better than that.

I can write about them, too.

Howe, my right-hand man, I know you hate the mushy stuff, so I’ll keep this short. You’ve been there every step of the way and I owe you more than I’ve ever let on. I am who I am because of our last four years together. Better than sex with protein powder.

Cody, the only frat guy who’ll admit he knows the difference between energon crystals and Boba Fett. While your clothes constantly changed, the dork on the inside never did. “I think it’s cool that you have a journal. Keep up the writing.” Better than sex with terrible music.

Jigga Joe, where did you come from? Are you Zorro? Jesus? There never has been a more breathtaking image of debonair womanizing wrapped in pure velour. You taught me how to dance, how to get dirty, and most importantly, how fucking cool oldies are. Better than sex in the pro shop.

Chris, I will kiss you again. You look good in a suit; you look good with a bong hanging from your face. I’m not exactly sure how to transcribe the sound that you make so frequently, but I will try so future generations of Rice will know how righteous you are. Better than sex with “Dip-dip-mneoh!”

Dez, you’re the only one who gets any work done around here. Whatever you want to be, you’ll be it. Have fun with Princess. I can’t think of a more loving home for such a beautiful little thing. Hoovs, trample those dishes, cough on the hose, run wild and free knowing that I love you and don’t mind the smell of acetone tartar. Cris, if you make that chipmunk face too many times it’ll stick like that. Sober up. Vicki, let’s just put it off one more day; we can do it tomorrow morning before the final. Better than sex at the deuce deuce, each of you.

And for all of the readers, both of you, I loved seeing you guys laugh at the good jokes, both of them, and cry at the bad ones. I did my best to make them educational, but more importantly, I just wanted you people to smile. Face it, sex is funny; keep having fun with it and it’ll only keep getting better. Take it too seriously and you’ll end up Catholic.

And as for you, Broling, if I may be so bold: I’m in love with you, and love is all you need.

Upon graduation, Daily Nexus sex columnist Dave Franzese will form a sect of Catholicism devoted to having sex with protein powder.