Whatup, little dude? Say what?! You made it to college? Man, I remember when you were a pimple-faced freshman straight out of junior high. It's one of the few things I do remember from back in school, if you know what I mean. You know that overwhelming odor of marijuana emanating from the second-floor boy's bathroom? Well, let's just say you have yours truly and six semesters of the Shire's finest pipe weed to thank for that aroma. That restroom was my home away from home. And for a few weeks after I threatened mom's boyfriend with a steak knife, it was my home. What, you think that sweet IROC-Z Camaro drawing carved itself into that stall door? If you do I'll have to start calling you Barbarino from Welcome Back, Kotter, 'cause you're "so confused!"

Man, I wish I had a teach' like Mr. Kotter back then. Not like that son of a bitch I had for phys-ed junior year, Coach McDougal. One day I just couldn't take his BS anymore and gave that fascist a grade-A haymaker to the jaw. Why? Maybe because Denise had broken up with me behind the Arby's the night before. Maybe because I'd just seen The Breakfast Club and had enough of, you know, like, the totalitarian regime of the educational system and junk. Or maybe it was those mysterious pills Jimmy Brenner from metal shop gave me—the ones that upped my testosterone and signifigently impaired my judgement. I guess we'll never know.

Whatever the reason, I bid adieu to the whole "school" thing after the Coach McDougal incident. But that doesn't mean I haven't watched With Honors enough times to toss a few pearls of college wisdom your way. For example, I can tell you the legal tolerance for panty raids is much stricter these days, so do them at your own risk. I learned this the hard way up at Vassar in '81, and it's why I'm not technically allowed in New York until 2020. Of course, I think they went harder on me since as I wasn't really a student there, and the fact that this was during the so-called "Ted Bundy-era" probably didn't help things either. But don't be fooled by those nerds from Revenge of the Nerds. They only got away with their panty raid because they were complete dweebs, and all those sorority babes they chased knew they were as asexual as one of those frogs from Jurassic Park.

Not like me. I would have rounded second base with every last one of those chicks. And I would have taken a picture of it and mailed it to that bitch Denise, so she could see how real I'm keepin' it and how leaving me was the biggest mistake of her life. But I would have attached a note to the picture telling her I think about her every day, and how we can still make it work. And maybe added some of her favorite Poison lyrics, too.

Denise, if you're reading this: "Like a knife that cuts you, the wound heals / But the scar, that scar remains."