sprayhawk

Dear Class of 2013,

If things go according to plan, then you will walk down the hill in late May 2013.  However, if things go according to Mayan prophecy, then the world will come to an end on December 21, 2012.  This scenario leaves you with no time to work and pay taxes before you are consumed in eternal hellfire.

“But how can there be purpose in life if my sweat isn’t oiling the corporate machine?” you ask innocently.  “What,” you ask, oh freshest of bright eyed academians, “what oh what do I do?  How can I go on living whilst knowing that I won’t contribute significantly to the GDP?”

In light of impending Armageddon, disallowing your ability to graduate in four years and contribute to a single fiscal cycle, I’ve come to the conclusion that you are, metaphorically speaking, the last drunks at the party.  You can’t pass out on the couch…not just yet.  Drink!  Dance!  Do the robot!  Do anything!  For all of us!

You must recognize your position in the spectrum of history.  Here we are, at the end of time, and here you are, in the prime of your hedonistic careers.  It is your right, nay, your obligation, to go out with a bang.  Literally.  Preferably with someone better looking than you.  Not just for you.  Not just for us.  For the Universe.

For when aliens, billions of years in the future, receive stray Internet signals on their iPhones, they will most certainly click quickly through your Facebook pics, hoping to find out if you are hot or not.  And when they see you passed out on the bathroom floor with “BITCH TITS” written on your back in red marker, it will be you who will solely represent the greatest accomplishments of those highly evolved machines we affectionately call “people”.  A job well done, I say.

Be not afraid.  As motivation, remind yourself that college isn’t real.  Ever play a video game?  It’s the same thing.  You’ve essentially got three meters: Health, Special Powers, and GPA.  You’ll figure it out as you go, but I can tell you that Health goes up when you go to the Rec Center or eat your vegetables, but it goes down when you go Greek or “just pull out”.  Special Powers go up or down unpredictably with the ingestion of drugs such as alcohol and cannabis.  (I am still trying to figure out exactly how to use Special Powers without first losing consciousness.)  GPA increases by going to class and pretending you are interested in your professor’s research concerning Drosophila mating call frequencies, though it decreases by taking COMS 130 or by “not taking Haiku composition seriously” in your early morning Eastern Civilization class.

Here’s a belated Haiku for my ECIV graduate teaching assistant:

Tight khakis show junk

I am going to throw up

Get a pair that fits

But I digress!  Old grudges die hard.  But you wouldn’t understand, I proclaim condescendingly.  You are fresh, a priori!  Fresh…men.  Or women, let’s not get sexist.  Let’s get sexy!  Ladies, please feel free to grope blindly for the limits of your personal sexual revolution.

Because that’s what college is all about.  Getting laid.  Get out there and have some fun before the world ends.  Dump your high school lover.  He/she is ugly/boring/clingy.   And cut off long distance relationships.  After all, you can’t have a drunken make out sesh via text message.  Even on an iPhone.

Sincerely,

Sprayhawk