I had to do it. Since ensuring my receipt of an empty leather binder crippled my presence in this beloved blogosphere of late, it’s only right that I drop a fresh turd all over this cultish ceremony from hell. From the Harry Potter-themed banners and apparel to the pre-packaged advice-spouting dildos on stage, it really adds up to be an impressive game of “what can be the most pointless.” Now I’m sure many of you loyal mimers have already navigated this underwhelming bore-fest (side note: a boar-fest would’ve been waaay better), in which case you are cordially invited to this trip down memory lane pain. For those of you who haven’t, I pray that for your
special uber-generic, death-defying commencement you aren’t forced to endure the same breed of shit-blasting hangover you can only get from 13 hours of straight drinking previously- but I’ll be sincerely disappointed if you don’t.
First off, don’t fucking say congrats, please. I’m far too sick of hearing that obligatory abreev that reminds me I couldn’t pull off a full Van Wilder, and now after five years in the making I have corporate America’s chode gliding slowly towards my wincing face (but thanks anyway). Second, if this is everything we worked toward in these years of three-story beer bongs, riding big wheels down bigger hills, and
anonymous sex with dozens of honeys …torchin bowls on rooftops, then a) this convention is more of a buzzkill than the clueless bitches who got Montee Ball arrested, and b) we probably deserve one last high-frequency dosage of get-me-the-fuck-outta-here-or-kill-me-now captive listening that the “important” part of college was so grounded in.
Now don’t get me wrong, graduation weekend officially goes down as one of the best. Throwin em back amongst relatives (and friends’ relatives) to celebrate you, with absolutely no shame, is as close to a get out of jail free card as you’re ever going to get. This only makes it that much more dickish when your ultimate walk of shame occurs, in procession, at 10am. I realized then that I would’ve rather been in jail.
Now don’t you dare get on your high jackass and tell me I should’nt have been so hungover. As far as I’m concerned, it’s pretty much a right of passage to be hungover for graduation. It serves as one final flashback to those Friday morning zombie marches to class, and it made me realize that upon entering this so-called workforce, being even one-fourth that hungover will make a 9 to 5 impossible (see now that’s some real learning). Plus, how can you not take advantage of such a blatant parental encouragement to “celebrate?”
Having undergone this hellish ordeal one times too many at this point, I feel obligated to outline the do’s and don’ts for all you mimes in training.
Do: Piss and shit as much as possible before the ceremony. These types of mornings are known for their unpredictability.
Dont: Get so hammered you think it’s a good idea to sleep for a while at a bro’s place closer to the bars. Your back will hurt and you waste precious pass-out time on your morning stumble home.
Do: Load up on supplies before you leave. We’re talking 5-hour energy, emergency granola bar, and your game boy pocket. Drink 1 cubic shit ton of water before you leave.
Don’t: Sit in back at the ceremony. You may be closer to the speakers, but you’re farther from the potential throbbing headache known as the band. Also, you won’t have to walk or stand nearly as much. Extra clutch.
Do: Decorate your cap. Didn’t realize you could do this, I would’ve totally printed a checkerboard for that shit. Hustled some journalism bitches during all that nonsense talk. Nawmean?
Don’t: Listen to the speakers. Instead, rifle through your program looking for hilarious names (or potential ones). It will be worth it. Aside from the occasional (un)fortunate first name for a “Cox” or “Wang”, you may find the type of gem so taint-tingling that it can keep you from strangling yourself with that annoying-ass titty-tickler they call a tassel. That find, for me, was none other than Bridger Mann-Wood (no offense Bridger, your parents were absolute dickholes. “Um, yeah honey that would be totally awesome to hyphenate that shit, I’m sure his middle school years won’t be miserable”).
Do: Write down a fake name for them to announce. I was all set to go with Lloyd Christmas, but my family would’ve disowned me for sneaking by undetected. Better luck next time.
Don’t: Let the man get you down. Only piece of advice worth giving.
And that’s about all, folks. Everything about graduation sucks, so just do your best to… oh wait, the grad money. Riiiiight. I take back everything I said. Totally worth the two hours of holding in that haff-gallon of diarrhea.
Bridger Mann-Wood. Holy shit. So proud to be in his class.