It's tough to be organized in the summer now that you don't have classes to skip and meetings to ignore. There are, however, several ways to become more organized. You could buy a day planner and write in all your little meetings, but if you're going to be that gay, you may as well get one with rainbows and unicorns and make a separate page for the numbers of your boyfriends. A manlier approach would be to get a palm pilot, but you're already likely carrying at least a cell phone and some sort of MP3 player along with your wallet and keys, so the added electronic pulse of a palm pilot so close to your balls could produce mutations…and not the cool X-men, shoot lasers from your sack mutations…more like the misshapen, never-have-kids-when-you're-older kind of mutations.

After some careful consideration, I've decided that the perfect, simplest, least annoying way to keep your shit together is to get a personal assistant. Sounds expensive, right? Well, it doesn't have to be. See, believe it or not, while as a college student you may be low on the totem pole of the professional world, you're actually quite impressive to a certain species: the high schooler.


Your personal slave
That's right! To a high school student, you seem wizened and experienced. You've been to college. You've pledged a frat. You've hung out on the quad, if your school happens to have a quad and they actually call it a quad (which none I've ever been to have). Your high school student will be more than willing to help you keep your shit in order just to be in your presence.

He can be your walking day planner. Sure, it's gay for you to carry a date book, but what do you care if he looks gay? You could keep your busy schedule in order by just asking him if you were supposed to play video games with your college friends online at 1 or 2 or what time the local clubs stop carding at the door.

He could also help you remember stuff for you, like where in the strip club parking lot you left my car, how to tie a really good knot for when you kidnap a stripper, or how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop. You'll no longer oversleep your 2:15 frisbee game, miss your 3:20 IM conversation with that chick from your history class, or show up for 4:20 at 4:45.

And you won't have to pay your high schooler a dime. All you'll have to do is tell him a bunch of tips about college, tips that don't even have to be true. Tell him crazy shit, like that all freshman girls will remain as thin and easy as they are when they first arrive or that you never have to go to class if your parents call and say you're sick. He'll be eating out of your hand at exactly 5:25, exactly where he tells you that you had it scheduled.