Twenty minutes. That's how long I have left

Twenty minutes. That's how long I have left until I find out the truth. Am I really made up of mostly water like most humans are or am I really just a bag of cockatoos? Either way

, I am still a human and it's my first day of college. I'm dressed for success. My major is

before they start, get drunk, then nothing makes sense anymore. Try calculus while your wasted and tell me about it. Punch cards are like small flat prison bars. Punch lines are

not lines of people waiting to be punched by you. If everything could be taken literally, then I think everything would make more sense even when you're inebriated. Even algebra.

That's why I am offering a new class next semester: Algebra for the Inebriated. The only prerequisite is that you are thoroughly toasted before each class. A breathalyzer will be

used for ID purposes; if your blood alcohol level is below 0.08%, you won’t be admitted to the class. Algebra for the Inebriated is taught by Elwood “Skunk” Baxter, Drunk Emeritus.

"I got the idea for Algebra for the Inebriated when I noticed that no matter how drunk we got, we might forget out kid's name or birthdays, when a bill is due, etc., but we always

solve quadratic equations with equanimity," I said to my book agent. I didn't tell her I also had a PhD in Theoretical Physics from Cambridge. With luck, the book deal could

offset the damages I was assessed in the civil suit for my role in the New York Nuke incident, the TRUE details of which you can read in my book, assuming you weren't a New Yorker.