Hey, we all know finals is like playing tennis with Stevie Wonder; it's either hit or miss. You are either Stevie Wonder or his opponent. You are either serving pain or flailing like an idiot.

If you are flailing, then you will hobble through this academic match of intellect. You have fallen on the baseline. You are sweating and scared. You can't see shit, but you have that sweet sweet music in you, and I am here to bring it out.

If you are serving the heat then you are a schwag, pathetic nerd. Lay off poor Stevie. You are a hater and have no music in your soul, but I can help you too.

First, you are all majoring in something you don't understand, and as Lao Tse says, "The road to understanding begins with childlike fear, which leads to childlike anger, and the pounding of little child fists." Listen to the sounds that these fists beat on the drum of your major. Imagine pummeling your professors. What would they say? They would spill their guts. They would spill every question they have been dying to answer. I have hit all of your professors for you. These are the questions they need answered:

Economics Majors: Do people really like you? Most people resent you for trying to get all the money. Probably only other econ. majors like you. Think about this, though; most people get weird around money. So only other kleptos and thiefs are probably the other econ. majors. Do only weird crooks like you? Use econometrics to try and figure this out.

Environmental Studies Majors: Is Man Chowder vegan? If the issue for vegans is consent, then Man Chowder is totally vegan. What about animals that don't give consent? They don't say, "Suck me beautiful, work your gums around my foreskin." What about monkeys? What about Monkey Juice? Monkeys masturbate like crazy. They would love it. You might not get expressed written consent, but you would get a lot of squealing.

Physics Majors: If you dropped your mom out of a building would she hit the ground before your little sister? Would she hit the ground harder? Would she bounce higher?

Art Majors: Are you so rich that you can afford to be a lazy fool for four years? Paint what you will look like in ten years, once your parents cut off the credit card supply. Ha ha ha.

Women's and Gender Studies Majors: Is Lucy's Love Column inherently offensive? Why does she feel the need to broadcast her sex life? Think about the "Society of the Spectacle" and speculate on Lucy's relationship with her gender. Is it mediated through commercial media? How does her sexual identity develop through this process of self-viewer-self transformation? Given the gendered nature of the Mock community, Foucalt's theory of the male gaze may be useful here. 25 page minimum.

Psychology Majors: Why do people always look at their poop? Is it pride? Satisfaction? Or, are we checking for blood? If so, could that be a holdover from our hunter-gatherer days when medical diagnosis meant studying your poop.

Political Science: Are you better than econ. majors?

Math Majors: How many people have you kissed? Count them all up. Ask your friends in the Theater Department how many they have kissed. Compare results.

Theater Department: Play to your strengths player. Alcoholism makes for good method acting. You are a lie. Do you know who Stanislavki is? No. The only Russians you know come from vodka bottles.

Philosophy Majors: Have you ever loved some one so much it made you cry? Have needed something so bad you couldn't sleep at night? Shit, Brandi knows more about Philosophy than you ever will. You Kant beat MTV. Get it? Didn't think so.

Religious Studies Majors: What if God was one of us? Just a stranger on the bus. Trying to make her way home? Would she be hot? Would you want to do her? Would you have a boner and be really scared? You wouldn't talk to her would you? If you wouldn't even talk to God how can you expect her to talk to you? And why do you spend all day masturbating to her texts?

English Majors: You can't freestyle for shit. You're english ain't shit. Step into that cypher if you're fittin' to battle. You're like a baby, and post-modernism's your rattle. You don't have any candy, I'd be better off robbing that pansy Ben Johnson for style. You're just a little child, oral spittle and cute smile. In this big boy, world your english is in denial. The sun is coming up on english grammar and your ivory tower is in the dark—stammer, biatch.

Good luck to you all.