Graduates, as I stand before you today, I don't plan to recite any cliched definitions out of the antiquated Webster's Dictionary. What, you may ask, is a definition anyway? The newly organized Webster's dictionary says that a definition is "what you're reading now, jackass." That new edition sure is cheeky, ain't it?
Today you are about to embark upon an intense journey. Now, the media would have you believe that this journey will lead you to a hospital in Seattle where you'll fall in love with a married surgeon and have a diverse group of friends who'll all sleep together and cry a lot. And you will. You will find that hospital, you will sleep with that married surgeon, and you will spout that trite voice-over narration that will be playing in the background over independent mellow music for the rest of your life.
Congratulations! Do you know the places you're going to wind up? Do you mind up winding up there? When you're finding up will you be minding up? Don't let yourself start binding up...Um, I was going for a Dr. Seuss element there, but I think I might have gone with the wrong word--and putting "up" after it...clearly a mistake.
Look at the person next to you. Do you find them attractive? I remember at my graduation I sat next to a hottie. That's why I forgot to go up when they called my name. Look at the person next to you and wonder whether or not you'll sleep with them somewhere down the road. It's a small and narrow road, ladies and gentlemen, and the hotties are few and far between.
What have you taken away from your college experience? I took a few pencils from the Anthro department, but that was about it. I remember sitting where you're sitting--except a little more to the left--and thinking, what have I learned over the past six and a half years...and what will I learn next fall when I come back to finish off those last few, pesky, feisty, little bastard credits? I learned that there's no such thing as a free lunch--not if you lived in Brogan Hall! Those cheap f**kers wouldn't give a drowning man a candy lifesaver...Hahahaha...not that it would help...ahhh...those f**kers. Points for days, and nobody'll buy a guy a muffin when he's starving and his girlfriend just told him she's f**king her Geology T.A.--not because she loves him either, but because he's helping her pass the class--a class you flunked...that you'll be repeating...in the fall...with that T.A...I'm sorry, where was I?
Remember to treat people kindly. I'm not talking about everyone. It would be impossible to be nice to everyone. And frankly, should you be nice to everyone? I don't think so. Are you going to be nice to Hitler if you meet him? I mean, he's dead, but would you be nice to him? I hope not. Stalin? Well, maybe...I mean, he wasn't Hitler, but still...Or ex-girlfriends who f**k their T.A.'s because they can't tell the difference between and an igneous and a metamorphose rock and they don't want to open their f**king textbooks to figure it out. No need to be nice to them. And stupid people. Why bother being nice? They won't notice. Don't worry about being nice to racists, bad drivers, freaks, tools, potheads, losers, people who work at the D.M.V.--no point there, any of those f**kers who are graduating from Brogan Hall who might have called you the Turd Nerd for the past six and a half years, c**ksuckers, a**holes, people named Shep--who the f**k names a baby Shep? Oh right, your mother. Just avoid all those people, plus mass-murdering tyrants and geology whores. Everyone else deserves nothing but your utmost courtesy and respect, because you have been blessed with an education, and chances are, they have not.
Kids, life...is like a book. A long book--you hope. Even though some of you may not like long books; trust me, you want this one to be long. You don't want your life to be a pamphlet or even a copy of Vogue magazine that can sometimes weigh in at hundreds of pages, because most of it is advertisements, and you don't want your life to be advertisements. I mean, doesn't that just piss you off when you buy this magazine and you have to flip and flip just to get to the table of contents? That really bugs me. Anyway, your life is a book. What kind of book is your life going to be? Maybe it's going to be a thriller. Maybe it's a mystery. Maybe you killed somebody, or you're going to, and you have to evade a snappy detective from California who's hot on your tail. Maybe your life is written by Dan Brown. Wouldn't that be fun? You could figure out what happened to Christ's baby. Did any of you know Christ had a baby? I didn't. Clearly, my life was not written by Dan Brown. Nevertheless, no matter who writes the book of your life--you are at least its publisher. So publish well, kids. Publish well.
Thank you, and go greatly into the world.
...or don't really...
Life is about choices.
Yeah, that was my message...
...That might have not come through...
...But it was.
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