7 Things Your Academic Advisor Will Probably Never Tell You

Written by Wesley Janson

Saturday, 16 June 2018


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Do you ever take some time to notice that all of the people who treated you poorly and screwed you over in the past have ended up happy? Do you ever ask yourself how it’s possible that they now have fulfilling careers and lives that are characterized by warmth, affection, purpose, meaning, and unconditional love while you’re still miserable, lonely, and struggling to get through life?

Have you ever wondered why bad things happen to good people and why good things happen to bad people? Why is life so incredibly unfair?

The answer is simple. It’s because you’re a Piece of Shit!

Anyway, here are "7 Things Your Academic Advisor Will Probably Never Tell You."


Do you ever blow your asshole out so completely hard that you become cognitively confused for about 30-40 minutes? (Of course you do. We all do.) It’s the kind of fart that is so incredibly loud and horrifying that it actually causes you to forget your own name. When you become conscious again, you immediately feel the need to check your pants. When you check, however, you find that your pants are surprisingly clean. (“How can that be?”…you ask yourself.)

Those are the types of farts that you usually have when you’re safe at home. However, there is another type of fart that almost always happens when you are at work. You’re simply trying to get through another normal, mundane day on the job when it feels like a very small bubble has just forced its way out of your anus and popped. It actually seems pretty harmless. (“Well, that was just a small fart”… you tell yourself.)

But when you go on your 15-minute break later and check yourself, you find that your underwear is completely sprinkled with feces and that your butt-cheeks as well as the upper part of your legs are caked in Shit!

There’s no way that you can possibly clean all of it off and go back to work, either. There’s simply not enough toilet paper. Co-workers also keep coming in and out of the bathroom, which makes it impossible to sneak out in order to find a wet rag or a paper towel.

You have no choice but to stay in the bathroom stall and cry for the rest of the day.


There is much more to life than just going to work all the time. Don’t get me wrong. I work hard all week, but I also know when it’s time to relax, socialize, and have fun.

When I get done with all the toil and stress that the week has to offer, I come home alone on Friday evening and observe that nobody has called my cell phone, sent me any Facebook messages, or looked at my Dating Profile.

After that, I drink beer until I fall down on the floor. When I wake up the next morning, I take my lottery ticket to the gas station, find out that it failed, and then I come back home and drink beer until I fall down again.

For some odd reason, people keep telling me that I have a “problem” and that I need “help.” Some people have had the nerve to throw fancy words at me like “intervention” and “rehab.” Others have even gone so far as to tell me that I need to “dry-out” and that I have “Alcohol-Induced Depression.” I just ignore these people. The real truth is that they are all jealous of me. They are simply too afraid to admit just how awesome and amazing I am.

I am confident in my own ability to know whether or not I have a problem. Does my chest hurt every day? (Yes.) When I cough, do I see stars in the corner of my vision? (Sure.) Do I get massive pressure headaches 12-15 times a week? (Of course.) Do I have racing thoughts that interfere with my sleeping patterns as well as my ability to perform simple, work-related tasks? (Absolutely.)

Do I often blank out in the middle of the day and forget who I am? (Yeah. That happens to everybody, doesn’t it?) Do I lose coordination and start shaking uncontrollably when there is no alcohol in my system? (Only after a few hours.) Do I cry deeply while touching myself when I’m alone at night as beer bottles decorate my bedroom floor? (You bet I do!)

But other than these minor details, I feel great! I feel great because I’m the type of guy who knows how to have a good time!


I like to keep things real. When I go to the fitness center to exercise, I don’t fall for all these advertisements that promote health shakes, protein drinks, or supplements that are medically proven to enhance muscle growth and endurance.

When my workouts need a boost, I rely on caffeine and tobacco. Nothing gets you going in the afternoon like 3 cups of coffee and half a pack of Marlboro Reds. After I consume these things, I like to go jogging in the humidity in order to work up a really good sweat. Then I go into the gym and exercise vigorously for 2 hours. When I’m finished, I get on the treadmill and do a “cool-down.”

I don’t expect to live forever, but I do believe in taking care of my body while I’m alive. It is possible that I will be running on a treadmill someday when my heart explodes right out of my chest and splatters all over some poor girl who happens to be working behind the counter.

But then again, I always did want to “give my heart to somebody.”


If you’re going to go to the gym, then don’t be a pussy! Stay off the exercise bikes! Why would you pay a monthly fee at a fitness center just to get on a bike that doesn’t move?

Riding an exercise bike at the gym is like pulling your pants down and jerking off to 70’s porn on a Thursday evening. It’s fun for about 25 seconds, but you don’t really get much out of it. In addition to that, you feel empty and ashamed of yourself afterwards.

If you have a membership at the gym, then get serious and do the real thing. Turn on your favorite Celine Dion song, grab the 5-pound dumbbells off the rack, and tear it up like the mother-fucking, raging 'Terror from Hell' that you really are!


Nothing quite says, “Hey, I’m a big, pathetic, worthless, fucking penis-face” like buying a pedometer and counting your steps every day.

“Hey. I took 8,396 steps on Thursday. I beat my record.”
(Wow. That’s Great. I took 3 Really Big Shits on Wednesday. One of them was so big that it actually caused toilet water to splash all over my testicles. After that, I fucked your sister!)

Is there anything else amazing that you want to tell me about?


Love is a relentless, horrible, wretched Beast that wreaks havoc on your emotions before destroying you internally. The person you love is eventually going to end up happy in someone else’s arms, anyway.

Getting your face chopped into pieces by a lawnmower blade actually feels better than falling in love or having sincere feelings for somebody who doesn’t feel the same way. Falling in Love is like purposely getting yourself twisted up in a barbed wire fence on a freezing cold day so that you can get hit by a stray bullet from a deer-hunting rifle. I’d rather have my testicle sack torn off by a belligerent, cross-eyed, zoo animal than to waste my time trying to love somebody while only hoping that they will love me back.

A broken heart is one of the most painful things in the World. (But that’s only if it happens to me. If it happens to somebody else, then it’s funny.)

If some guy gets his heart broken, has a moment of severe desperation, hurls himself out of his dorm window, and accidentally lands in a dumpster full of used condoms and puke, then I’m one happy individual. I enjoy things like that. It puts a smile on my face, and it gives me hope for the future.

If some insanely jealous woman takes a bunch of cocaine, goes completely berserk, and claws her husband’s face off with her fingernails after finding out that he’s been cheating on her, then I’m even happier.

Why do things like that make me happy? Because I’m a people person, that’s why.

I like people.


College is bullshit! It’s far too much work and far too much pressure. It’s also far too expensive. On top of that, there is no real guarantee that you will obtain a career in your chosen field. And even if you do, you might end up hating it. You may also have trouble holding onto your job several years down the road as they begin to seek new College Grads who will work for less money.

Spare yourself all the trouble and simply use an employment agency to help you find a cozy job in a factory somewhere that produces plastic fan blades. Employment Agencies are nice. The interviews are easy and simple, and they usually find you a job right away. This also spares you from the horrors of the “PROFESSIONAL INTERVIEW.”

When you go in for a “PROFESSIONAL INTERVIEW,” you get asked extremely hard questions that are purposely designed to intimidate you and cause you to make mistakes. One slip up, and you’re finished. And even if you give an amazing performance and pass the interview with flying colors, you often don’t get the job anyway because the rotten bastards who conduct the interview already know who they want to hire for the position.

A “PROFESSIONAL INTERVIEW” kind of feels like this:

You walk into a big office feeling really nervous and intimidated because you’ve been preparing for weeks. You are ready to give it your absolute best, but then you are told to face the other direction.

You feel a hand on the back of your head, and you oddly notice that you are slowly being pushed forward and bent over at the same time. Before you know it, your face is on the desk and you suddenly feel a rather uncomfortable pain in your rear end. But it’s hard to describe the pain because your face keeps scraping forward and backward on the large paper calendar on top of the desk. You keep seeing "August 2" and "August 30" over and over again for some odd reason.

After a while, you hear a rather ugly groaning noise right before you feel warm and moist fluid dripping all over the middle part of your back. You are then told to leave, and you are given a promise that they will call you back. But they never do.

In other words, a “PROFESSIONAL INTERVIEW” is kind of like a bad date.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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