The Scientific Method of Finding Out if One Can Live Like a College Student in the Real World (as conducted by the Rossman's younger brother, Dave)

Step One: Ask a Question

I liked being in college. My meals were always hot and made by somebody else, I never had to clean my dorm room (either my roommate would do it or we'd just move out at the end of the year), classes were easy when I chose to go to them, and I had tons of free time to hang out with friends or just watch movies and daytime TV all day long. The real world sucks in comparison: you have to make your own meals (or eat out all the damn time), go to work every day (even when you don't feel like getting up at 6:30AM, shaving and showering every day), and you only have the time between 5PM and 11 or 12PM to do the shit that you want to do before having to call it quits and hit the sack in order to prepare for your next day. True, you don't HAVE TO clean your house or apartment when you live in the real world, but members of the opposite sex don't automatically sleep with you regardless of your housing condition after you get out of college. So anyway, my question that I'm asking for this experiment is this:

Can I successfully act like a college student in the real world (while maintaining my student-days happiness) without going broke?

Step Two: Do Background Research

I googled questions like "being a fake college student in the real world" and "how to slack off in real world" and only got pages back for applications to Phoenix University and pr0n. Then I went to a job counselor and asked her if she had ever come across somebody who had perfected the "real world slack" and was able to maintain that life style for any amount of time. She said yes, people can and have "lived like a college student" in the real world, but usually only for a few weeks or possibly months at most. Even if they were on disability, living the sweet life on the government dole, that never lasts forever. They also have to be really injured [and badly] in order to keep up their benefits, and it's hard to live like a college student if you really do have a 7-inch nail in your head causing you to drool and to have trouble Velcroing your shoes. Those who fake their disabilities usually do something stupid to blow their cover, and the people whose real world jobs are to catch people using disability illegally are really damn good at what they do. That's a lifestyle that's not easy (or even possible) to keep up for any amount of time.

I then checked out some local 7-11s, movie theaters, and McDonalds to see if anybody there was living like a college student. The 7-11 and movie theater people were bored and tired looking, and some of them lived with their parents who cooked them dinner and made them breakfast every day, but none of them were happy. That was a key ingredient that I needed to be able to get out of all of this: happiness. The McDonalds people were all busy as fuck, covered in grease, and VERY angry at me asking them about college. The ones who would talk to me said that the "Burger U" they attended was not fun, and it apparently killed somebody that they knew... Or maybe that was just a clown with a knife that did that. I got confused when they told me I had to order something or let the 20 customers behind me get to the counter. Man, I was wanting to leave the real world even more at that point, but from what I saw nobody had yet perfected living like a college student in the real world. It looked like it was up to me.

Step Three: Construct a Hypothesis

If I act like a college student in the real world, then I will be as happy as I was in college and live a fucking awesome life from now on. Fucking 'A'!

Step Four: Test Your Hypothesis by Doing an Experiment

Taking detailed notes I set about to study the effects of living like a college student in the real world.

Day 1

I woke up to my alarm at 6:30AM. I then unplugged the digital clock knowing full well that the lecture I'd get and the work I'd have to do at my job was just the same old shit that I had seen and heard before for the past 7 years of working at the anal beads factory just outside of town. I'd go in, check the plastic tank to make sure the anal beads' plastic was mixing well, ensure that the production machine was churning out the proper number of anal beads per hour, look in on the illegals who were in charge of putting the final product together (and REALLY make sure that they were not sneaking any size 13s onto any strings that were supposed to just be 9s again), go to the testing room and lube up some rubber anuses and some sluts who volunteered for the product testing, get chewed out by the boss for not calling him down for the human testing, wash hands, eat lunch, and then play solitaire on my computer all afternoon. SSDD I figured. I'd steal some notes from a coworker the next day and just add my name to the report before turning it in to my manager, Rob..

I eventually got up at 12:06PM. I didn't shave, shower, or even brush my hair. I found the most repulsive flip-flops I could find in the back of the closet (still not nearly as disgusting as the ones I wore on campus all those years before), put on a crusty Hawaiian shirt, a sweat-stained baseball cap, and some threadbare khaki shorts. Then I went next door to my neighbors' house and asked if they had any leftover breakfast that I could have. Mrs. Chamberlain indicated that the remaining pancakes and pieces of french toast that Mr. Chamberlain did not finish for his breakfast were probably in the garbage that was already out by the curb. They were better than anything I'd ever eaten in the college cafeteria, and they were still soggy with syrup.

I followed my breakfast with a few beers and then decided I'd check out campus to see if anything interesting was happening. By "campus" I mean my office. By "interesting" I mean any birthday parties, food lying around, etc. I snuck in the back door and got into my assigned seat (my office) just as the boss made his afternoon rounds. He noticed my unwashed hair, unshaved face, gross clothes, and uncaring expression on my face, but instead of confronting me he just sighed and shook his head.

No free food at work, so then I skipped out early and headed down to the Sea Wench Pub for an early evening drink or two. After my 5th round I noticed this chick who was arguing with Lorna, the bartender on duty, about putting up some fliers in the window to "stop global warming" and to "save the polar bears from global warming." Lorna listened to Missy (the chick's name) rant and rave for 5 minutes about how we're killing the polar bears and how New York City will be flooded by 2021 by melting ice caps, and when she was done Lorna slapped the fliers out of the chick's hand, stepped on them, and then poured the half a glass of PBR she had in her hand on the chick's head.

I went over to comfort Missy and help dry her off. We got to talking and I ended up just agreeing with every stupid thing she said about how nuclear energy was bad, how we should stop persecuting "Arabs", how North Korea only needs some hugs and pats on the back, and how the world will be a much better place because our president is black. I stated, "Yeah, but is he black enough," to which Missy teared up and said, "Finally! Somebody else understands!" I fucked her long and hard that night. Though she was really stiff in bed, and she refused to call out "Oh GOD!" instead saying stuff like "fuck me like a panda! Oh! You're like a blue whale! Oh baby, you've got me wet like a rainforest!" Missy was hot, but she didn't shave her legs or her pits. I almost had to do the Coyote Maneuver on myself to get the hell out of her place the next morning.

Day 2

I got home at around 6AM and was still a little buzzed from trying to drink Missy under the table and onto her back the night before. I didn't feel like going back to sleep so I reluctantly put on a fresher pair of jeans and a fairly cleaner T-shirt and actually went in to the office at my normal, uncollege life time.

Before I could even make it to my office space though, Michael came up to me and asked if I had finished my proposal that Rob asked for for the big presentation that day. I didn't panic and said, "Oh, yeah, I'm almost done. Can I see yours to make sure that I'm writing it correctly?" He acted suspicious, but I just smiled and scratched my unshaved chin.

At the big meeting I made sure that I got up first, and I wowed the shit out of Rob and the rest of the suits with my proposal on self-lubing anal beads. Only a few made a comment about my appearance, but Michael's proposal more than made up for it. In order to make it up to Michael though (since he had to then make up his own speech on the fly) I took him to the Pussy Parlor for a lap dance at lunch. Then we got back to the office and I looked up some pr0n on my computer until 5.

I got a pizza and practiced some beer pong that night (putting the ping-pong table up against a wall since everybody else was too busy with bills and sleep to play me) before passing out at around 10PM.

Day 3

I woke up fairly early the next day at around 8AM, and decided that all the praise I had received the previous day at the office would carry me through a skip day just fine. I then remembered my old frat and decided that I needed to go out and buy some new friends for my experiment. So I drove down to the Home Depot and picked up a half dozen guys who were looking for something to do. I offered them each a 20 to hang with me all day, and they all jumped at the chance. I even knew one of the guys from the factory who put the beads together. I had wondered where he went off to after I realized I hadn't seen him in months. With my broken Spanish I was able to figure out that his wife and kids thought that his job at the "sex-making toys factory" was too undignified for an hombre such as him, so now he mostly cleans out porta-potties on construction sites.

My new amigos were awesome! We had some drinking contests, played some poker and pool, and felt up tons of titties back at the Pussy Parlor. Rodriguez regurgitated his liquid lunch inside my car, but that just seemed to go along with my new lifestyle.

After getting home after dropping mis amigos back off at the Home Depot, I tried to invite myself in to the Chamberlains' house for some dinner, but they pretended that they weren't there. Then I tried to get my brother [the Rossman] to either treat me to dinner or let me raid his fridge. He had a tie on his door though, so I obeyed the guy code and let it go. That's when I fell back onto my last resort and went back to my parents' house. My mother made a face when she opened the door, but would not let me in, and I think she started to cry. Then my dad came up to the door, shook his head and mumbled something about "not serving dirty hippies" in his house before closing the door in my face. Man! It made me so angry! I was so full of angst! My parents, man, they just didn't UNDERSTAND me! I was trying to DO something special with my life, and they treated me like a second-rate citizen!!

That's when I called up my brother's friend Jimmy Jammer and told him that the $150 that he owed my brother would be waved if he bought me a pizza and a six pack. He did. I never did mention this arrangement to my brother, and even if I did he'd probably just give me a high five and force Jimmy Jammer to still repay him under threat of "pee balloon."

Day 4

I didn't even go out that day; I just played WoW from 9AM to 11PM. Well, I did order some pizza to the Chamberlains' house, and when the delivery guy started arguing with the couple and threatening to call the cops unless they paid for the 12 pies they asked for I was able to sneakily open his unlocked car door and borrow 3 pizzas that were apparently meant to go to a Meredith Stockdon two streets over. I thought about calling her up via whitepages.com and seeing if she was cute, but that would have led to some awkward questions, so I just went back to killing Deathknights, Abominations, Iron Dwarves, and Storm Giants. God I hate Storm Giants.

Day 5

I had no idea what day it was when I woke up (it turns out it was a Saturday). I didn't feel like looking for a hot breakfast, so instead I found a single-serving box of Trix hidden in my pantry behind 5 bottles of ketchup. I had it with some still good, but kind of lumpy, milk that I had left in my fridge. Then I watched some ESPN and some DVR'd 30 Rock until around 3PM.

I called up some friends to see if they wanted to hang, go to a Jupiter Coyote concert, or just look for some cheap sluts down at the Sea Wench Pub, but they all had crap to do with their families, or other responsible things like "feeding the homeless," "playing softball with nephews," or "going out to eat, and then some quiet time with their significant others." What crap! It wasn't fair that if I wasn't going to get any that night that they would! So I just went back to looking up donkey shows on the internet, and eating a cup of ramen that I found under my bed until around 8PM when I heard noises of a party not too far away.

I followed the noise and the light to a barbeque celebration of some sort in my neighbor Jim Trip-something-something's backyard. There were tiki-torches, a few kegs, three grills, and at least 50 people talking and dancing to the hip-hop blaring on the speakers. I ran home, found my straw hat and coconut brassiere, and then ran back to Jim's place to blend in with the crowd and hopefully eat my weight in burgers and brats, and drink myself silly with his kegs of Coors (beggars can't be choosers you know). Things were going very well for a while (I got three chicks' numbers, found out they were celebrating Jim's boss' huge sale in the office and raised a toast to him, and was well fed and drunk by 10PM), but then the cop car showed up and parked in the street where everybody in the backyard could see it.

I freaked, screamed "Oh crap! I forgot my fake ID", threw my burger and red plastic cup in the air, pushed a few people down (including, unfortunately, a pregnant woman and a half-midget man) and tried to jump the fence into the neighbor's yard to get away from the cops who I swore were busting the party. It turns out that the cop who showed up in his cruiser was Jim's brother-in-law, and he was just there for a drink himself... Well, he was until I made my commotion and split my pants trying to climb the wooden barrier to the next yard over. Then I was arrested for disorderly conduct, punching a pregnant lady in the boob, theft of 4 hamburgers, 7 hotdogs, and 2 gallons of Coors, and calling the police officer in question a "fat fucking, puke-faced, gutless, obese, donut-gulping, rubber-hose fucking pig..." Which is apparently a misdemeanor.

[The Rossman] bailed me out of jail that night, but took plenty of pictures of me in the holding tank for what I'm sure will be blackmail material in the near future. When I got home after that the first few things I did was to take off my coconut bra, shave my face, shower for 20 minutes, and then burn my flip-flops with about a pint of lighter fluid.

The experiment was over.

Step Five: Analyze Your Data and Draw a Conclusion

After looking over the activities of the past 5 days I was able to see a pattern emerge: The more grubby and scruffy I got the more fun I had, but the less seriously people took me. By day 5 I looked like a homeless bum, or even worse like a hippie. Looking in the mirror before I shaved everything off in the end I was actually disgusted with myself. I am not a clean-cut, stick-up-my-ass individual by a longshot, but man did I look ugly. Hair should not look like a mop on top of somebody's head, beards should not look cheesy and greasy, and "sunken cheeks with purple bags under one's eyes" is never a sexy appearance. Yes, I did succeed in once again looking like a college student, but all college students fail at looking like anything respectable.

My freeloading ways were shunned by society, and I was forced to steal and scavenge for food so that I could afford my regular intakes of alcohol. I skipped quite a bit of work and was able to shirk a whole lot of responsibility while still coming out of this experiment relatively unscathed, but had I continued this test any further and I'm sure I would have gotten fired, or had my balls ripped off by Rob. Luckily any performance slippage was easily pushed onto Michael (I owe him a few more dances it would seem).

After I washed, got a haircut, put on clean clothes, and stopped wearing ugly footwear that showed off my feet (the grossest part of any human body), I was accepted at my parents' house again, and my brothers and sisters started acknowledging my presence again.

My conclusion from this experiment is that one CAN INDEED live like a college student in the real world, but why would one want to? Really, past the few keggers and loose, easy chicks there's lots of puke, dirty and stinky clothes and bodies (if not yours then your friends'), no money, and ramen. Ramen... that should be reason enough not to attempt this on your own. Oh, and chicks in the real world don't get the hint like college girls do. Usually when a guy pretty much gnaws his arm off to get away from one in college they let it go at that, getting the hint rather clearly. In the real world they try to get knocked up by somebody else and claim that you're the father in order to keep you in their psychotic lives. I knew I should have told Missy my name was Kuni.

Step Six: Communicate Your Results

Don't try this at home. I am a professional and I still got burned. Two trips to the titty bar in 2 days, all that beer, and paying my new amigos to hang out with me really put a dent in my savings... Unless you have a large inheritance lined up, living like a college student will hurt you financially — like a doctor lubing up a rubber glove behind you; you may not think it'll be that bad, but then you feel the pinch, and by then it may be too late — but it isn't impossible.