1. Fake a Relative's Death
Needs: Computer, Photoshop, Lack of Conscience
How To Do It: 1. Pick a relative you don't like- maybe the aunt who always "leaves" your Christmas present at home.
2. Write an obituary for the relative and send it to a little known paper (e.g.-East Newark Star-Ledger Tribune).
3. E-mail professor saying you'll be out of town all week at the funeral (Important- make sure to link to the obituary and include plenty of crying face emoticons).
4. ?.
5. Profit.
Benefits: Open up to a girl about your recently deceased, but beloved, aunt. Enjoy subsequent hot, tear-soaked sex.
Drawbacks: Black hole where your heart used to be.

2. Break Leg
Needs: Sledgehammer, friend
How To Do It: 1. Give friend sledgehammer.
2. Have said friend find a karate master who will break your leg in exchange for a new sledgehammer.
3. Have karate master break leg.
4. Go to hospital.
Benefits: Chicks dig casts; actually nets you a legitimate doctor's note.
Drawbacks: Pain- incredible, crippling pain. Also, people making "break a leg" jokes.

3a/3b. Don't Take Them
3a- The Sleep-in Method
Needs: Badassness, Disregard for collegiate success, Sunglasses, Leather Jacket, Cigarette (real or candy), oh-so-perfectly windswept hair
How To Do It: 1. Don't study.
2. Sleep.
3. Continue sleeping.
4. Wake up, tell friends about how you don't work for the man.
Benefits: Even if you get an F in the class, the Fonz still gives you an Ayyyyyy.
Drawbacks: Will soon be replaced by Scott Baio.

3b- The Death Method
Needs: Bus ticket to Little Italy, middlemen who don't do diddily, Big Pun
How To Do It: 1. Take the bus to Little Italy.
2. Meet up with said middlemen.
3. Wait for Terror Squad.
Benefits: You died straight thuggin'. Also, friends can now use method 1. Way to take one for the team, bud.
Drawbacks: Potential copyright infringement?

All is going smoothly and as you saunter (more like trip...maybe five inch heels weren't the best idea?) into the first party, the strong smell of stale beer and B.O. hits you with its pungent and sickly sweet scent. This brings a smile to your face as it can only mean one thing. The weekend is here and you are unstoppable. Fergie's "Fergalicious" comes on and even though this song is the musical equivalent of a root canal, your body starts to move and because you're still sober, you still have rhythm. You and your friends make your way into the center of the dance floor aka a dirty living room with holes in the walls and prepare for the attack that is inevitable. Sure it might seem arrogant to say that guys are going to want to dance with random single girls but here's the deal: They're drunk, there's beer, and it's dark. According to this formula, everyone is attractive. Yes, even the guy who thinks mullets are sexy and the girl who REALLY should be wearing a bra.

The first predator comes up from behind you and all of a sudden you're grinding to the sheer class that is "goodies" thinking all the while that if this guy was any more dancing challenged, you would need medical assistance. Your friends aren't having any luck either and when you see one of them dancing with "that guy" (the one that should have graduated in 1980 but decided that nothing could beat the college life and still lives on campus because hey, it's better than moving back in with mom) you do what any good friend would do: You grab her away from him and pretend that you are lesbians so that he'll know that she's taken and no, he CANNOT watch. The night starts to get messy as you are having trouble walking in a straight line and you start to see that if mullet guy invested in slightly shorter hair, he would actually be really cute. You're about to go over and tell him this (because if you don't, then who will?) when you witness the ultimate party foul. One of your friends has not so subtly vomited in a plant off to the side of the room. You start to wonder why there's a plant in a musty and rundown house that only a budget conscious college male would love (does it help the ambiance? Hide some of the wall holes?) when you hear glass shattering. Someone broke a window trying to walk outside because they thought that it was open and a doorway...at least this is what you think they say as they are so drunk that they cannot speak properly and will spend the entire next week nursing their hangover because lectures aren't THAT mandatory.

Your other friend runs up to you with her makeup smeared and her shirt looking rumpled and a little off center offering no explanation other than "seriously, it's time to go." You gather pukey and the slut (gotta love them) and blow a kiss to mullet as you gracefully "walk" through the door. "A success," you think to yourself as you head home to rest and prepare for the shitshow that will be saturday.

Someone had to do it. Proceeding on the assumption that the Flintstones didn’t actually exist (sorry kids), cavemen sure as hell didn't use alarm clocks. So at some point during the glorious history of the human race there had to be someone, most likely the predominant "that guy" of his era, who invented mornings.

Now by mornings I don’t just mean the time of day preceding lunch (breakfast? what’s that?). I mean the insufferable hours spent aimlessly meandering through life, with either mind or body awake, but never both concurrently. Mornings are evil by definition. In fact, the words “morning” and “mourning” share a common Latin root. Seriously, look it up. Alright well not really, but you gotta admit something fishy is going on there. Or what about this little “coincidence”: the first part of morning is “morn”, which rhymes with “corn”. And you know how sometimes when you’re eating corn it gets stuck in your teeth and it takes forever to get out? Yeah, that really sucks.

Anyway…I want to find out who that one pretentious little prick was who first decided that waking up naturally was insufficient. What an overachieving douche. Had I been present at the time of this guy’s self righteous epiphany, I assuredly would have shat myself. Let’s take a hypothetical look back…
“You think we should do what?!? Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you said you wanted us to wake up from the soothing dreams and restorative tranquility of sleep so we can get to work faster. Hah, what a joker. Wait…you’re serious.” [cue aforementioned self defecation]

Personally, I find nothing in this world short of death (which sucks, or so I’m told) more miserable than being woken up before naturally ready to do so. Plus, who doesn’t love just lying half conscious in bed for an hour, after waking up at the crack of noon, enveloped in the sweet caress of warm sheets? Heaven. On. Earth. There is nothing, and I oh so full-heartedly mean nothing in this world that would ever necessitate awakening earlier than I want to. There are no motivations save for self preservation, which would still be subject to case by case consideration, which would merit this godforsaken concept.

Here's an idea. I'll find this guy, or his last surviving relative if need be (you know, just in case) and I will be his alarm clock. Every time he goes to sleep, I will go off. And by “go off”, I mean punch him in the throat. Rise and shine, jackass.