As a young fuck-enthusiast, you may be asking yourself: "Why am I reading this article, and not fucking?"

If you're not thinking this, you certainly should be. Joe and Jane College Fuckscene are, even as you read this sentence, pumping triumphant fists in the air while they make big heaping shitpiles of love in the dorms, student residences and Jack in the Box bathrooms that surround you. So why aren't you? Right now? With the person to your immediate left or right?

As a member of that luckiest of breeds, the college student, you have an obligation to the rest of us. Though you don't realize it yet "" and why should you? "" it will never, ever be as easy as it is for you, right now, to get into the pants of absolutely everyone around you. As a college student, you are out of high school, out of your parent's house, and out on your own for the first time. You are surrounded by single people your own age "" people bursting with newfound independence, who want to meet you and like you and want you to like them. You could throw a rock and hit someone you will later be getting your naughty parts moist with, assuming you don't throw it too hard.

You should be doing everything in your power to get laid as often as possible, while this embarrassment of choice still exists. When not eating, sleeping or going to class, fuck. Fuck often. Fucking hard. Fuck until your sex parts are numb and sort of blueish. Don't worry about rejection. Don't worry about reputation. Don't even worry about how ridiculous your penis/vagina looks (and sorry, but yes, he/she lied and it looks hilarious). Just fuck, often and indiscriminately.

I'll tell you why: I've now been out of college for a few years, and here's the thing: I never see any of the people I didn't fuck, for whatever reason, while at college. On a few occasions, I refused to take care of business for what seemed like coherent and well-founded reasons at the time. I now see them for what they were: times I wasn't, but should have been, fucking.

Believe me, no one was more shocked than I was that I even got opportunities. I wore cheap, ill-fitting shirts. I got ten dollar SuperCuts-brand haircuts. I was one of those idiots who read philosophy and was always blathering on about some political stance or other that, looking back, you couldn't pay me to give a dick-toss about.

I was poor. Ill-mannered. I smoked. I had the emotional depth and personal maturity of a can of salmon. If ever there was a candidate for the Lifetime No Fucking section, I was that candidate. I tell you these embarrassing truths for one reason: Even I managed to get laid at college. My head reels to think about how well people without the above character flaws were making out. Presumably like bandits.

I'm going to let you in on The Big Secret. I'm not supposed to, but here it is anyway: the future is a desolate wasteland entirely bereft of hope. The world you know now "" where single, attractive people with nice teeth and intelligent things to say mingle by the thousands; where today's only responsibility is to attend a three hour lecture and type out an essay about T.S. Elliot "" does not exist out here.

Nobody gives a shit about T.S. Elliot. We certainly don't care about your postmodern feminist take on his poems. Out here we're burdened with responsibilities, bills, jobs, concessions. We have less time on our hands, and we spend what little time we do have going to places we don't like, in a desperate attempt to meet single people our own age.

Eventually you will have to leave college "" because if you stay, you'll be one of those people, and you'll become unfuckable anyway. The second you leave college, you will get older. Your dating pool will start to shrink "" rapidly, unmercifully, like a smelly geriatric. Your fantasy of nailing that nineteen-year-old frosh, or taming that brutish quarterback into submission? That gets progressively more creepy-sounding and unrealistic as the years pass.

In short, my friends, enjoy the fuck-filled bounty that is college while you still have it. Fuck loudly. Fuck proudly. And if you can, try to nail that nineteen-year-old first-year with the tight little package, so that I may live vicariously through you. Spare no details when you relate these stories to me.

Oh. And if you mix about a half cup of red wine, a half cup of Worcestershire sauce, a quarter cup of Soya sauce, and a tablespoon of salt into a container, pierce a thick steak with a fork, let it marinate for a day, then cook it on a barbecue "" man, is that good eating. This is the full extent of everything I know.

You can read more from Jay at his website, JayPinkerton.com. Karo has a new column out today so check that out.