Dear attractive boy in my lab section,
You know, the first time you walked in the room and sat down at my table, I pretty much wanted to marry you. In fact, when you showed me your 2005 Tahoe, said you were an upperclassman, and told me that you also enjoyed Will Ferrell movies, my love for you continued to grow.
...And then you really had to open your mouth and try to impress me. You think you succeeded, but see, I have this problem. All I want to smack you upside the head, and you can't take the hint.
See, your idea of showing off is telling me that you're better at math than english, yet you failed Calc III three times in a row. That's pretty epic, because even I managed to pull off a C in Statistics and I left 2/3 of my final exam blank. I had to count on my fingers under the desk to do mental math.
Then, you told me you were 24 and have no job, you refuse to take more than 12 credit hours per semester (less you strain yourself), your parents still pay for everything and your Grandma bought you that SUV. She also supplies you with $1,000 spending money for you to eat Bojangle's three nights a week and avoid fresh vegetables like they're Calc III equations.
You also told me that you hate college, you can't read or write worth the price of your Calc III textbook (or even the wholesale value of a 4 year old copy), and in an effort to graduate before you turn 30, you changed your major to something called "Science, Technology and Society" which has no direct career pathway in the real world. In fact, nobody can even figure out what it is you do for your major-related classes. And when this super hard major made you score an awesome 1.2 GPA, you also decided to convince the counseling center that your breakup with a girlfriend who should have won the First Annual Sweet Potato Lookalike Contest warranted a year to be dropped from your record.
You also mentioned that your highest GPA was attained during the semester you decided to try out whether or not studying for a test more than 10 minutes after you notice it on your syllabus (which coincidentally is 10 minutes before it begins) and was a fantastic 2.7. Kudos, my friend.
...At this point, if you attempt to have one more "intelligent" conversation with me in which you inform me that your life goal is to be able to sit on a couch and watch DVRed episodes of Dirty Jobs and basketball for 14 hours a day, I want to fill a prescription for whatever quaalude the zoo uses to shoot an obnoxious elephant in the ass.
In fact, if I had the choice between asking you and any given dusty brick on our campus for advice on the meaning of life...I'd trust the building material to give me a wiser reply.
Here's to hoping you realize that living off Mommy and Daddy into your mid 20s just isn't sexually enticing,