Dear student body of [YOUR UNIVERSITY'S NAME HERE],

I would first like to thank you for the warm welcome I have received since signing with your university. It’s not often an 18 year old gets the chance to have sex eleven times in a 24-hour span with anyone but himself, much less with a gang of disease-free ladies with such a dizzying array of techniques, preferences, skills, and battery operated devices illegal in six states. I would personally like to thank the three generous Latina ladies who helped me pull off the “Lotus Spinning While Riding Nandi to Brahmaputra” manuever, or whatever the hell that thing was. That shit was loco!. I am now forever a convert to culo caliente, and plan to spend my leisure time rutting my way through the Hispanic Students Association con aficion, bitches. (See? That AP Spanish credit was for real, Myles Brand. Holla at ya nino.)


Huevos Rancheros for me for the next three years, y’all.

(If you have any questions for my prostate, it is on vacation, having just run its own version of the NFL combine. It should be back on Friday to address your inquiries. )

As warm as the welcome wagon has been, I would like to talk for a few minutes about a few things I intend to do while attending your university.

First, I promise to astonish you with my muscular development. My calves will jump out of my legs like electrified cornish game hens when I make the slightest movement. My biceps will flutter under my shirt as I stretch outside of study hall. Even my eyebrows will flex with a might your puny, mortal soul will flinch in envy and fear at. The little caveman in your brain is saying that back in the day, your children would be mine, I’d steal your cave, and your girl would be jocking mine on a sabretooth tigerskin rug fireside while you froze outside and waited for the jackals to finish you off. And you would be right.

Second, I promise to give nothing but the most lackadaisical of efforts to my classes. I will sip protein shakes in the back of “Growing Fruit for Fun And Profit;” I will stuff burritos in uninterrupted chains down my gullet in “Hispanic Studies” (3 credits!) at Mamacita Flores Mexican Restaurant across the street; and lastly, I will play Madden on my PSP in the back of Fundamentals of Mathematics, and you will stand in awe as I thrash fellow recruit Cro Beardsley of Glendale, California with the lowly Arizona Cardinals. (You want math? Me plus the Buzzsaw= infinite losses for you and yourz in the Maddendome. And that’s real.)

If you’re looking for me in any of these classes, I’ll be the one with a protein shake in one hand and a hefty 12-inch Idongivafuck sandwich in the other.

Third, I plan on repping to the fullest in whatever temporary, open-for-this-season-only club my football teammates frequent, despite the fact that I am 19, underage, and likely not supposed to drink alcohol under my training regimen. I will get into at least one fight of dubious cause and yet avoid having the incident enter the public record. Moreover, I will astonish you with my dance moves, including my fantastic Matrix (strictly clownin’), my heartstopping two-step, and most impressive of all, my bewitching Shoulda Lean. Again, should you want to find me, I’ll be the one dumpin’ and punkin’ monkeys at (Single, flammable word like “FUEL” or “Blaze”), Club (your area code here), or someplace named something like “Shankey’s Hideaway.”

My girl got a girlfriend.

Fourth, I plan to stay frosty. Just warning y’all. The car is my mother’s, and she likes her screens to drop and just kill all the haters, too; where do you think I inherited my fine appreciation of haterevader technology? She just lets me use it. Every. Day. The bling is not fake, and I am willing to risk suspension during the two meaningless opening games of the season if I am accused of wearing ersatz ear candy by your punk ass.

Lastly, my apartment shall look like I held Ty Pennington at gunpoint and convinced him that it was not me, but instead a needy 26 member immigrant family living in it, and that the refit best include two flat screens or someone’s ass is gonna get an Extreme Makeover they won’t forget.


Say aloha to my new friend.

In conclusion, I thank you for the welcome, and invite you to say hello when you see me on campus, and that unless you are purple ribbon fine, you may not ride in the White Light, a.k.a. my my mother’s amazing Tahoe. (You see the white light, you die, right? That’s what happens when you see my–um, mom’s car.) If you are fine, you may ride both the car and the Octagon. That’s right. I just dropped an Anchorman reference without sweating.

That’s just how complex I am.

Yours,

(Insert recruit’s name here.)