Class of 2008, as I look out today on a sea of Weather Fans, I see all the promise and potential of a generation. I see people who made an unforgettable impression on the memory foam mattress in my heart, developed by NASA’s top emotional scientists. On that note, please open your yearbooks to a blank page and write, “Ur 2 cool, never change! Let’s not lose touch after graduation!! -Weather Guy #51. P.S. My ICQ number is 10310777.”
[The Weather Guy pauses for a moment so Daniel Stern can provide poignant narration in the voice of an older you, then is thrown a guitar from offstage.]
In fact, Class of 2008, you might say I could stay awake just to hear you breathing. Would I watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you’re far away and dreaming? Are you kidding? I’d even spend my life in this sweet surrender, lost in this moment forever. Why? Because every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure...
[Fog machine. Lasers. Aerosmith rises from stage via hydraulics.]
...Yeah yeah yeah yeah,
I don’t wanna close my eyes,
I don’t wanna fall asleep,
’Cause I’d miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing.
’Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream would never do
I’d still miss you, baby

And I don’t wanna miss a thing.
[Camera pulls back to show Texas-sized asteroid burning up in atmosphere, pans to Godzilla eggs hatching in the basement of Dillon Gym, then reveals Milky Way is actually contained in a marble. Dissolve fade.]
Well folks, Weather Guy: The Ride is coming to a full and complete stop, and it’s time to gather your personal belongings and exit through the gift shop. The upper management of The Daily Princetonian has traded me to the Orlando Magic for three second-round draft picks, a copy editor to be named later and power forward Hedo Turkoglu. In addition to bringing a much-needed post presence to the ‘Prince’ lineup, Turkoglu will also be writing a smooth jazz appreciation column in this space beginning next September.
So, I’m down to one night and one more time to say thnks fr th mmrs. I was 18 when I walked into the ‘Prince’ office and 22 walking out. And by God, I’m rich ... in Weather Guy Fun Bucks. Sifting through hazy recollections of those early days, I’m certain that four years of Princeton have actually made me dumber, which is why post-graduation I’m declaring New Jersey an Official Weather Guy Zone of Indemnity and awarding it no points. When I return in no fewer than 10 years, I promise to be a black-market incandescent light bulb dealer, CEO of Binford Tools, or owner/operator of a Capitol Hill hot dog cart named Franking Privileges. Until then, with a final thanks to alpacas for their 110 percent positive energy and attitude, I take my leave. Eagle 1, Fox 2.
[Somewhere on the outskirts of Paramus, “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” is playing on a diner jukebox. The Weather Guy walks in and cracks open a refreshing Vanilla Orange Orbitz.]
Actually, I can’t leave without clearing my conscience of some of the most terrifying entries in the Weather Guy Book of Secrets. For instance, every twenty-third letter from these columns will reveal the horrifying truth behind the dollar bill pyramid eyeball, and backmasked messages confirm rampant fan rumors that the real Weather Guy was killed in a car accident in 1966 and quietly replaced by a body double named Billy Shears. Also, the entire weather column universe actually took place in the imagination of the autistic child from “St. Elsewhere.” Sorry.
Finally, turning to page 47, this weekend’s weather will be-
[Journey cuts off abruptly. Screen goes black for a minute and a half. Somewhere in the distance, a helicopter takes off from 4077th base camp.]
Wanna know the rest? Hey, buy the rights.