Listen up, douchebag: I will punch you in your fat fucking face. Why? Because I'm wise and you're... unwise. Here's the deal, assjack. I speak from experience when I tell you that college can be the best time of your life—unless you're sitting in a fucking jail cell being ass-raped by Edward James Olmos' American Me character. Or worse, sitting in class. Hear me, assjack? Sitting in class is WORSE THAN BEING ASS-RAPED BY EDWARD JAMES OLMOS AND HIS CRATERED SKIN! HE IS SO UGLY. Not that I know whether a guy is ugly or hot or not. I like chicks, don't get me wrong. But... argh, fuck it. Moving on!

First rule: DON'T GET CAUGHT WITH THIS NOTE. Teachers, cops, and parents serve two purposes—to wear stupid clothes and to make your life a LIVING HELL. They do this because they're puritans, and puritans should have planes crashed into their cratered faces by angry terrorists. Jihaaaaaaaaaaaad, wham! You got that, pissdrinker?

The Drugs. Drugs come before everything—am I right, or am I right? They make sex feel better. They make you smarter, your girlfriend better looking, and they make everyone think you're cool. Will you be cool? No, you won't be cool until you're my age. But you can pretend, cockclown. So where do you get drugs? Let's put it this way: Hippies are good for nothing, except for getting DRUGS. Take advantage of them. Use them. More importantly, use their drugs. But do NOT become friends with them.

The Drink. All drugs are better when you're drunk. Fuck algebra. If you learn one equation in school let it be this: A night of heavy drinking followed by drinking a shit-ton of water should minimize any normal hangover. It also helps to take aspirin... or wait, is it ibuprofen or... shit... maybe Tylenol? I can't remember. Some pre-med kid told me that one of those things is bad and can melt your liver like a cheap candle. So maybe don't do those things. Or do. I dunno. I'm starting to hate you, anyway.

Sex. Two words: freshman orientation. One time I got an STD but only because I'd already slept with 1,899,000,454,455,333,122 hot chicks—so the moral of the story is never, ever use a condom. I impregnated, like, so many chicks and paid for over three billion abortions. But it didn't matter. I'm the man. And you're not, you virgin assfinger. Stop asking so many stupid questions and pay attention to my WISDOM.

Classes. If you're going to have as much fun as I did in college—and you probably won't, shitsniffer—you need to know how to get out of responsibility. Everybody knows the whole "I can't come to class because my stupid grandmother died" line but it only works once. Max, twice.

Roommate suicide. You're roomie kills him or herself and you get an automatic 4.0! High five! (Don't touch me.) Not sure if this is true or not but I think I saw it in a movie once so... why not try it? Chances are you're probably going to hate the assjuicer anyway. Also, if you can bear the sight of some wrinkled old junk and/or poon, do yourself a favor and boink one of your professors. Blackmail comes in handy and you'll never have to hand in another term paper—as long as you can keep it hot and heavy, and let me say my faith in you doing that is extremely fucking low.

Videogames. Play 'em drunk. Play 'em high. Play 'em while some sexy young co-ed does some "mouth business" on your junk and/or poon. Videogames are the best. Fuck you or anybody that says any different. Praise be to PlayStation and hail Satan—thank you, good-bye. And if you see me on campus, don't make eye contact with me or I will break into your dorm room at night, piss on your face, light your sheets on fire, and then make a little phone call to my good friend Edward James Olmos.

Your Mentor