TheStrip has been scuttled. Smirks and scowls simultaneously pass over my face as I watch her sink. I'm glad the we shot the last torpedo. Let TheStrip exit stage right: a full-court Printing Press.

To say that this endeavor has been the best educational experience of my life would be true -- but it is an uninspired conclusion. We looked to the web as a better bride for the Academy, wherein chemical weddings between student and subject might displace the current and ancient shotgun marriage that now broods and presides in these halls. We were by definition "precocious," though I prefer postcocious. Quick-draw artists of the Oedipus Tex variety. I can't believe we were so naive.

But I'm not bitter. I have the profound indifference of one who has seen through. We avoided a My-Lai massacre final statement -- and incendiary caricature and professional alienation are what we do best (or at least most eagerly) -- because... Why did we avoid that again?

What TheStrip taught most of all was independence -- an absurdly dangerous commodity in all times and places. All of us now are strong enough to smile at the knee-jerk horizons of most cattle graduate students and join the historical vanguard of innovators in poverty, hunger, fleas, lack of central heating, one naked bulb coldly hanging over a beaten typewriter in Winter Paris, non-sequiturs, self-importance, sexually transmitted diseases and legendary alcoholism. Did I forget "I-told-you-so"? We've been initiated.

End transmission.