Ferret Merit by Adam Villian (Fuck you – not everybody makes up their own easily used pseudonyms).

Well, I've been back at school for two weeks now. I know most of you have been back at school for two and a half, three weeks now, but I'm on the quarter system, so I'm just hitting my groove. The reason I'm on a quarter system and not a semester system is that I go to Stanford. Have you heard about it? It's the school that's stupid enough to accept a pot smoking gambling addict like me, but smart enough that I name drop it whenever I'm at a job interview or Mcdonald's. Though if, I don't cut back on my smoking, those two will probably intertwine more than I would like.

Just in case you ever find yourself here (lost, no doubt, on they way to Palo Alto Community College), you're going to need to survive long enough to get back to the video-game playing, crack smoking, baby outpopping lifestyle that those who don't go to such a prestigious school doubtlessly lead. I'm kidding, but seriously, did you know that Stanford was a good school? If you can recognize these characters, you might just make it out in time to watch Cops or The Hills.


THE OVERACHIEVER

Stanford attracts overachievers like YouTube attracts college students who are so high that they spend 45 minutes debating whether it would be a good idea to store Doritos in the event of a zombie invasion. It's not hard to find them, unless you go to class and the library as infrequently as I do, in which case they might as well be Waldo.

HABITAT:

Anywhere where books and other overachievers are found. Merely being in the presence of similarly goal oriented youngsters reminds them that they've got a lot of work to do if they want to destroy the curve like Rosie O'Donnell destroys size 6 pants. Usually surrounded by a mess of papers containing writing and numbers that might as well be Greek to me, unless they're actually Greek, in which case it looks like Aramaic to me.

WHAT TO DO:

If you want to slip by unmolested, it helps to create a diversion. It's a well-known bromide that all overachievers desperately seek the affection of their parents. Remind them that they don't have it by loudly having a cell phone conversation with your “parents”. Say things like “wow, Mom, I never thought of myself as that successful”, and “Dad, I'm glad you're not a negligent skirt-chasing alcoholic that blames me for your being unhappily married”. If that doesn't remind them why the have to graduate cum laude (that's Latin for ejaculating loudly), nothing will.

The PROSPIE

Sometimes, there are people who aren't in Stanford not because they're not smart enough, but because they haven't yet finished high school. Speaking of which, I could really go for some Burger King right now. I'm so high. What was I saying? Oh yeah, youngins:

HABITAT:

Wherever the college guidebook (The Cardinal Guide to The Cardinal) says. They'll inevitably be better versed on the layout of campus than I am, unless discussing the path directly from my dorm room to the vending machine that sells peanut m & m's. Even then it's probably a toss-up. I don't know where they're staying, and I don't want to, unless one of them happens to be a cute girl, or a long haired guy with pretty enough features that he looks like a girl through a concussive haze of smoke.

WHAT TO DO:

Lie, lie, lie. They're likely high school students and thus easily confused. Claim that the guide is a famous hoax designed to confuse unwitting prospies. Claim that they're late for the secret orientation/sex party. If you're feeling particularly frisky, claim that despite it's higher prestige, a Stanford education isn't necessarily appreciably better than one at Berkeley. Actually, never mind that last one; some things even high school kids wouldn't believe.

THE SOCIAL BUTTERFLY:

Conventional wisdom says that college is a place to go out and meet people and develop friendships, and not stay in your room reviewing YouTube videos and playing low-stakes online poker. Oddly enough, some people take this craziness to heart, and spend their free time flitting about like butterflies on speed.

HABITIAT:

Well, first this mixer at Zeta Psi, then maybe a swing by the Jazz concert that's going on in Lerner Hall, a little social bike ride with Negroes n' Nannies (Call brown and go out on the Town!), quick nap and shower, then obvi to the huge birthday party in Ralph hall. Why, what are you doing? Really? That's it? Well, gtg, kkthxbai, kisses!

WHAT TO DO:

It's kind of like having a girlfriend on her period – not much to do except wait it out, unless you want to end up all bloody. I suppose you could ask for a blowjob, but last time I did that I ended up getting slapped. Some professors have no sense of humor. Anyway, if you wait it out long enough, they'll usually have something else to do, leaving you to slip away.

THE PIC WRITER:

This is probably the easiest of all to spot. Not only are they generally granted with good looks, high intellect, and superior online poker playing skills, we usually like to wear our “ask me about my Internet writing” t-shirts everywhere except the shower. Not that the people in the bathroom don't want to know – we just write them on ourselves with Magic Marker and don't want the colors to run.

HABITAT:

Surrounded by snacks and weed smoke, taptaptapping away at a laptop.

WHAT TO DO:

Give them money. Please. Preferably either in the form of marijuana or online poker funds. Seriously, they're just hitting a stretch of bad poker look, and a joint would really take the edge off. Hey, as long as you're up, would you mind hitting them up with some peanut M & Ms?



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