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Written by Scott Meadow

Category: The Editor's Mess

June 7, 2012. Meadow's Alma Mater, Ravenswood, Connecticut

Thank you, Chancellor Banks for that wonderful introduction.  Only rarely have I been called both a visionary and a genius so soon after sex, and my ego thanks you.  Dean McDonald, thank you as well for inviting me back to my alma mater -- at an embarassingly increased honorarium -- to deliver this commencement address before another gaggle of wide-eyed ingénues about to drunkenly stagger into the jobless wastelands.  We'll cover that in a few minutes.

First, let us reflect upon the last four years at this crotch-grabbingly expensive institution, that remains much less well-endowed than I am, as Chancellor Banks can attest.  It started back in September 2008, and what a fantastic month that was in American economic history.  You'd have to study the Great Depression's WikiPedia page to find a worse time to be racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt to finance an education that will place you only a slim paygrade above the most slack-jawed yokel with a fresh H-1B work visa.

Yet against all good judgement, you took the plunge mere days following the Federal takeover of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac.  Fannie Mae, which sounds like your great grandmother's stripper name, along with Freddie controlled most of the real estate in America.  Predictably, panic ensued, much like what happened when you realized that the girl you hooked up with after the freshman mixer was Dean McDonald's neice. 

But probably less panicked than you were a week later when you realized those burning red pimples all over "Little Bill" weren't heat rash.

Suffices to say the economy of the United States all but collapsed before you knew your way around campus, including, unfortunately where the free condoms were.  Granted a lot of that was related to bath salts and bong use, but also because things were falling apart quickly.  Things falling apart would turn out to be a recurring theme during your time here at Yalvard.

By the time 2009 reared its powerfully ugly gob, your legendary Nobel prize winning professor of economics Dr. Charles H. Drasser II -- the bellwether of conservative politics and posterboy of Reaganomics -- had been indicted on 41 counts of soliciting sex from male prostitutes in a four state area.  This sent a powerful chill through conservative circles, all but ending Dr. Drasser's "Traditional Biblical Values" campaign so admired by talk-show hosts across the nation, not to mention destroying the brisk little cottage industry the L.G.B.T. community had created based on hating this guy.

Read more: Yalvard Commencement Address, 2012

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Written by Scott Meadow

Category: The Editor's Mess

I just found out the other day that Queen Elizabeth has a husband!  I never knew that. The other weird thing was that he's not the King. I thought that was pretty much mandatory: if you marry a Queen, you get to be a King, or at least a full partner in a drag club. 

That was a "Birdcage" joke.

I want to be a King.  Not a King like that creepy Burger King guy, but a real King.  It seems like a pretty good job.  First off, I'd be a billionaire and that's cool. Plus my face would be on the money, which would make it easy for everyone to recognize me.  On the downside, I couldn't slouch in public or be rude, and I'd have to smile politely to everyone I meet in a way that makes it obvious I don't like them.  That would suck.  Still, being King is mostly about showing up places and waving, and I can do that for a billion bucks.  Having to put on pants to get the mail is a small tradeoff.

Still, being King in the 21st Century wouldn't be nearly as fun as it used to be.  For instance, I couldn't just have someone beheaded anymore and that would suck.  I mean, I'd totally take the job if I could be rude to people and behead my enemies.  Otherwise, why bother with it in the first place?

Read more: I Want To Be A King