THE ASKTATION

Dear Ask Boz,

How do I get into college?

RESPONSORIAL

Ask Boz is used to seeing questions, so we have question analysis down to a science. We can tell many things about a person simply by the way they present their query. We can accurately deduce height, genital size, eye color to within 3 shades, the local doppler radar reading, the style of your house (except for single-level ranches. We have a block on single-level ranches, for some reason. Always look like perfect sixes to us.) We also can tell intelligence. And you, sir, are stupider than a one-dimensional pony.

But this is good news. See, you used to have to be smart to get in to college, but no longer! Now, any moron competent enough to start a computer and compose simple sentences without getting enthralled by the blinking of the cursor can manage to get some sort of diploma, certificate, or license. And you are just such a moron!

If you are looking to get some post-secondary love, try to learn to do some of the following:

1. Learn to focus in five minute bursts. You must be able to have one burst every twenty or so minutes per class. Thus, four to six times in a session you will catch the gist of what is going on. This works because teachers and professor have long adjusted to the present "Idiot Threshhold Ratio" in their classroom, and are forced to teach the same concept multiple times a class, in a variety of semi-entertaining ways. In an hour class, you will only need to focus for 15 minutes. That leaves you forty-five minutes to practice making the same roughly anime looking character that you've been drawing on your paper since sixth grade.
2. Cheat with regularity. You probably already know this one, since you're dumb. You only need to identify the most intelligent idiot in your class, and use your well-honed glancing skills to pick up those few extra-answers that give you a needed edge. This will guarantee your present and future life of mediocrity, as opposed to a life of miserable failure and a bitter, lonely death.
3. Stalk your professor/ teacher and get some dirt on them. Our polling shows that 83% percent of community college teachers drink to excess or engage in drug use. We mean, can you blame them? On average it will take you only seven hours to find some damaging fact about your teacher that will be your ticket to "A" ville. Worst case, if they really are clean, find a stray cat and some roofies. Smilingly present a cup of coffee to your professor when you come in during office hours. Keep the cat mildy sedated and in your satchel. As soon as the teacher is suitably groggy and maleable, release the cat and get to work. Threaten to post the resulting cellphone video on the internet. If you can target a dean or other power, you may find you no longer need to attend classes. Can you say "two year partay"?

On the other hand, one of our Question Analysis Projections indicates that you may not be that stupid, that indeed you may already be in college, but just can't get "into" the swing of things.*

Perhaps you were labeled a nerd in high school, and your social skills only seem to attract more rounds of D+D and all night Magic-thons. Go counter intuitive. Find the gentle, hulking football player named "Rocco" or "Jim" or "Biff." Don't worry about guessing who he is: look for the biggest guy that is always wearing his letter jacket, or parts of his uniform. Tutor him in college algebra and Elizabethan Lit. Within his simple mind will grow the same thoughtless love that Lenny had for George. Don't worry - there will be no need to shoot your new friend in the back of the head. Instead, he will give you beer, protection, and A-list access to parties where vapid floozies won't worry that you have absolutely nothing to say that interests them, since they are equally bored by everything. Even their craving for really expensive handbags has ceased to be interesting, and has become more about trying to find the level of money they need to spend before they actually feel something. Say it's about 1300 dollars for a diamond change purse. She'll laugh in a clearly fake way and begin to fawn on you in a bored fashion. Enjoy the fact that you have the use of her body, a companion of sorts, and you are free to think your far more high-minded and intelligent thoughts as she is filling you in on the last wild episode of "Who Wants to be a Trash Collector?".

Or perhaps you have always loved the negative admiration that being an angry outcast has brought. With your lightning strike ability to brood over even the slightest setback, you managed to miss learning two-thirds of all social skills with your well timed temper-tantrums or furious bouts of sulking. You are particularly proud of your ability to drive away attractive women with the one-two combination of the huge tatoo of a tank on your forearm, along with the detailed description of one particularly satisfying animal torture session you and your friends had while drunk and high. Amazingly, you found a scholarship precisely for brooding jerks sponsored by the Reznor/Manson Foundation for the Flamboyantly Alienated. Now, for some reason, everyone ignores the fact that sitting on your bed and scowling is supposed to bring some sort of admonishment, giving you an elegant excuse for an outburst. Instead, people simply don't see you. Worse, they seem to be having a really wonderful time in ways that don't seem the least bit tarnished by negative adult influence. Your finely developed, nuanced unhappiness seems to have no effect whatsoever. What to do?

Our advice: find the palest woman with purple hair that is about your height and weight, and give her all your black clothes. Buy an orangish (think "umber") short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of normal colored jeans. Find someone with your shoe size and a worn pair of white or grey sneakers, beat them unconscious, and steal the sneakers. Make sure you wear all your piercings and chains when you do this, as well as your last set of black clothes. After you have stolen the shoes, burn the clothes, remove all studs, hoops, and other metallic objects from all parts of your body (yes, even there.) Dress in your new outfit. Enter social situations smiling, grab the first fifteen beers proferred to you, and forget what you were so angry about. Then enjoy your time as a college student. Best damn four years of your life. We want to go back. But we can't! OH!

*It also shows that you live in a single-level ranch. How about that?

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