After a semester of all-night parties, keg stands, Taco Bell free-for-alls, and the separation of lung and conscious state of being on account of your eclectic weed selection, you stroll into your final exam. You are completely unprepared. Hell, you barely know what the class is all about, so you have but one choice that will lead to the path of not failing. And that is to cheat.

There is still a wide selection of seats so you go on the prowl. First up is Keisha, a cute girl with a big butt. You are reminded to go on your International House of Ass Tour before graduating, but quickly continue looking for a better option.

Beads of sweat and Jack Daniels residue gathers on your brow as you frantically glance around for help.Next you have good ‘ol Abdul. He's a cool dude. You've even puffed puffed passed with him on a few occasions, but once again, you pass. Abdul looks shit-faced.

The choices are getting slimmer than an Olsen twin, and you're getting antsy when you spot the busty blonde you've stared at from your dorm room window for the past year. She's your future first wife, you're convinced, and you almost sit down next to her when you spot the cheaters' Holy Grail: Aoki.

You sing your thanks to the invisible powers that be for guiding you to your Asian goddess at the back of class, and happily take your seat. Aoki looks somewhat familiar, but you shake the thought from your mind as the elation that you're actually going to pass the class sweeps through your body like the orgasmic feeling you get from eating Denny's after 2am.

Even in your state of "not knowing shit" you look down at your exam and a few answers come to mind. But Aoki's paper says otherwise, and she must be right. She's Asian! Ten minutes left on the clock and Aoki is moving at a snail's pace. As you start to squirm in your seat, it hits you: Aoki was the chick who got carried out of the club last night after puking all over the bathroom floor, and then passing out with her face on the toilet seat. You realize, with a nauseating feeling, that Aoki is dumb as grits and you're going to fail.

Beads of sweat and Jack Daniels residue gathers on your brow as you frantically glance around for help. Keisha has long finished, and she has that cocky "I know I got an A, bitch" look on her face. Blondie is finished, too, and Abdul is passed out.

Shit! Life couldn't get any worse! you think.

Just as you're about to admit defeat to the evil test before you, you see a kid run down the hall screaming, "He's got a gun, or a sword, or some shit!"

Without thinking, you look to see if Abdul is still in his seat. Miraculously, he's gone, but upon further inspection you realize his bitch ass is just hiding under the table.

Damn! Wrong again.

You get ready for the worst when you see your roommate, Sammy, burst through the doors clad only in boxers—your boxers if you recall—with a ninja sword in each hand. It's obvious from your keen powers of observation, Sammy is on the good shit.

Knowing full well that the good shit requires near super-human strength to take down its human hostage, you turn and look to Tyrone expectantly, but his ass has already jumped through the window. In a blur, Guy Liner Gay Dude (that's what you call him anyway) takes off and tackles Timmy, chokeholding him until the police arrive. Wow, you didn't know he had the arm strength to do anything but apply mascara for half an hour.

You breathe a sigh of relief and say a little thank you to whoever saved you from failing and grab Tyrone's paper and switch it with yours. All is right in the world again. Until you look at your grade online: F.

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