As I finish out my super-senior year, I’d like to take a minute to look back at some of my general gripes and grievances about UVM.

It’s backed up by haphazardly constructed strawpolls with leading questions that support my agenda, so you can’t dispute that I’m right.

Tour groups; they clog the paths and hallways around central campus. This inhibits students’ ability to get to class as they have to match the walking speed of gawking parents and their progeny.

I don’t care if selecting a school has major implications on the rest of your life. I am being mildly inconvenienced. Nine out of 10 students agree that tour groups are the bane of their existence.

Professors who want to be called by their first name. According to my research, not many students are annoyed by this, but they are wrong.

Professors, if you want to be “hip” or “cool,” just have class outside or show videos. Students, be the agents of change. Still refer to them as professor or sir/ma’am #yeswecan.

This next one is sure to ruffle some feathers, but let’s talk about Satan’s cilantro, otherwise known as marijuana.

I got some hard truth for you; defining your life by a drug doesn’t make you cool.

Bob Marley posters, hemp clothing and various smoking paraphernalia just show your bad taste in lifestyle choices.

Remember: if your grandma would disapprove, it’s a bad idea.

Hippies. First off,  put some shoes on. This is a place of learning, not a barn. Next, patchouli oil; it smells about as good as Spongebob’s sundae made from ketchup, onions and rotten peanuts from the episode “Something Smelly.”

The last time I sat in class next to someone wearing this popular pestilence, it was as if my nostrils were being assaulted by the collective odor of a jam band music festival. There’s this thing called soap, use it.

I do not often go to gym, having come down with a serious case of senioritis.

When I do, I can’t stand the people who grunt in the weightlifting area, neither can 95 percent of the students I bothered in the library.

To you, it sounds like Hercules during one of his Labors, but in reality you sound like a hippo giving birth.

Maybe I’m out of touch. Perhaps I’m too old to relate to college kids these days. But one thing is for certain, I’m graduating … probably.