They said the real world would be hard after leaving Andover, but I had no idea.
It better be easier to be last in my class at business school.
I wonder how much Dad needs to donate for me to get to speak
at commencement.
If it were up to me, success wouldn’t be measured in grades. It’d be
measured in the amount of wealth each of us is set to inherit once
they take our respective grandfathers off of life support.
At least I still have that waffle named after me at the Student Union.
This better not affect my tax cut.
I still think this social networking site I’m working on could be really big.
I’d rather be last at Harvard than first anywhere else. Except for UC Berkeley. That’s a really good school for the price.
I never went to class. I showed up the first day, bought a Harvard
sweatshirt, and just walked around in flip-flops.
Hopefully, no one at Goldman asks to see a transcript.
Hopefully, no one on the admissions committee at Harvard Medical School asks to see a transcript.
Hopefully, no one on the writing staff of The Simpsons asks to see a transcript.
I wouldn’t be last in my class if my roommate had killed himself. Bill, if you’re reading this, stop talking about it and pull the trigger. Preferably before finals week.
I feel like a winner just for graduating in under 7 years.
If someone had told me that they ended the draft in 1973, I would’ve dropped out years ago.
Whatever. I’m going to be fine. My dad just invented the Kindle Fire.
I really thought these new Sperry Top-siders would have given me an edge.
Honestly, I thought I was applying to Haverford.
I wasted a lot of time hanging out with Rivers Cuomo.
D in Calc, but A+ in crew. Feels like that should be weighted heavier than it is.
Well, if all else fails, I can always do coke in the Texas Air National Guard.
Trying to get Kurt Vonnegut to write my paper on Kurt Vonnegut turned out to be a terrible idea.
I can’t believe I finished behind all those fat kids.
At least I’m coming out of here with a bunch of shit that says Harvard on it. That’s still good for a few handjobs on Martha’s Vineyard, right?
This is what I get for hanging out with the Red Sox. Next time I snort a semester’s worth of drugs in one night, it’s going to be with a team that makes the playoffs.
I still think I’ll have a chance at valedictorian once they add in the votes of the superdelegates.
I should’ve been studying instead of spending all those hours snickering about the pronunciation of “coxswain.”
I wish I’d gone to Hampshire. A sticker of a sad face would sting so much less than this D-.
I may have been last in my class, but I was first in nailing chicks over at UMass Amherst. Amherst? More like Slamherst. Ha-ha. Classic.
In hindsight, I probably should’ve told someone that I was taking a semester off.
I really hope you’re getting all these. I know you just started this internship, but your dictation has been piss poor recently. I expected a better class of people out of BU.
This piece was co-written by Rob Turbovsky.
