Dear College Freshmen,
This is the time of your God-Forsaken life! The first time you’re all on your very own. Mom and Dad aren’t here to look down their noses at your wacky antics–you’re choosing your own friends and classes and food and life and terrible booze. You’re setting your own schedule, living life the way that you always wanted to. You’re going to change the goddamn world with your go-getter attitude and all recommended textbooks.
You’re full of hope and opportunity and the wealth of times to come. The whole world wants you to succeed.
And I’d really love nothing more than for you just to Go. The Fuck. Away.
Realizing that at only 24-years-old I am the oldest person in this class of 400 was horrifically jarring in and of itself. Honestly, it really only added the magic when you said to me:
- “Wow, this professor is really tough to hand out a syllabus with all the work already planned.” By tough did you mean handed you a golden goddamn ticket?
- “Did you and your husband get married after prom?” Yes, we did–12 years after his prom.
- “Are you going to rush for a sorority? You’re not too old!” Are my tits sagging yet? I need something to bludgeon you with.
- “It takes me like, 15 minutes to get to this class. It’s sooooo far away.” Sorry, what? I was too busy driving and hour and a half through traffic and then walking a mile or so in 111 degree weather with swamp-tits to hear you.
- “I thought people your age went to ITT Tech.” Just…just fuck you.
And no, I am not going to buy you any alcohol. You need to learn some respect for the Good Captain Morgan–enjoy Boone’s Farm for 4 years, motherfuckers.
Knowing full well that you don’t understand why Bill Clinton is famous for more than being president, that LBJ doesn’t mean LeBron James, what the world is like without the internet, and that Looney Tunes are a thing makes the hatred in my heart bubble and fizz like the soup in Satan’s Old Folks Home–full of angst and whippersnappers.
Let me, in my apparent old age, let you in on a few hints for success so you don’t end up being Ol’ Ma Gavin one day, lamenting in what-the-fuckery.
- When someone offers you free booze or food, take it. It’s survival or stranger danger now–your move, bitch.
- When your parents give you money, be grateful. Other people have to be more than an unshowered stoner to earn a living.
- When your professors tell you their names, don’t shout dick-jokes about them. No one’s impressed at your ability to rhyme Long with Schlong. Next time you do it, I’mma punch you hard enough that your dick will become self-aware and reject your body.
Before you get all indignant and college-hippie and protest my ass with a peace rally and a shitload of weed, I want you to understand that I’ve been in your shoes. I’ve had it made and fucked it all up–and spent years working shitty jobs eating pickles and Sweettarts for days because that’s all I had, listening to my friends with scholarships be more awesome than I could ever be.
So I have one final thing to tell you, and for the love of Sweet Baby Jesus, if you hear nothing else from this letter, hear this:
Shut the fuck up. You’ll be amazed at how easy life can be if you’re not a giant fuckrug.
Noa D. Gavin
I need tips on how to deal with these bastards. Have any fun experiences with goddamn teenagers and their newfangled fuckery? When was the first time you ever felt old?
—Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Marinka: “Pfft, I’ve been a Wendi Aarons fan for years. I even have her autograph!”