Okay, so 90% of my classmates are Asians, brand new to the country, not used to our customs and such... How the hell can we communicate that they need to shower more than once a month? They really reek like B.O. and it’s making the rest of us nauseous.

EV: You should try to be a little more culturally sensitive. Not everyone wears the American flag on their pajamas when they get tucked into their racecar bed, and those “smelly” Asians probably know more about American history than you do anyway, considering they practically have to memorize the constitution for the citizenship exam.

AB: I carry a bucket of suds with me around campus, and use it to douche the stinky when necessary. If these kids really are brand new to America, they will be naive to our whacky traditions, like spontaneous mid-afternoon waterwars on the second floor of Capen; so, maybe you should just follow my lead and do the same. If anyone asks, you are a window washer. A racist, ignorant, window washer with insignificant genitalia and absolutely no tact. What do you smell like, Old Spice? Nice, grandpa.

Almost all of my classmates are cheating and sharing answers on homework and exams, so it looks like they’re brilliant and the rest of us are dumbasses... How can I stop this, especially without hard proof? I want to survive my classes and show these idiots the door!

EV: Idiots? They sound sharp as knives to me. The American school system does trail behind every other around the world, so I’m not surprised that you’re shitting your pants. Maybe you should learn to cheat without getting caught, or study harder and stop blaming the other students for your lack of academic preparation. You’re in college, buddy, take responsibility for your own work.

AB: I traced your IP, located your UBit name, and forwarded all of your information to campus officials. They are dispatching undercover detectives to sit in on your classes for the remainder of the semester and try to put these nogoodniks behind bars. Thank you for both your honesty and concern, and I wish you and your bitchy, cry-baby attitude the best of luck as you sob yourself through the next four years of real life. If I was your mother, I would have left you on a door-step. Suck it up and learn to be as corrupt as the rest of us. No one can get through life being a pussy. Not even you, pussy.

Can I have my own relationship column in Generation (“Sex, Books, and Flip Cup”)? I don’t really think your advice column is as effective as it could be, and it really does not spike any type of interest. I am a Psychology and Counseling major and I would really enjoy talking about relationships since my nickname is Dr. Love. Many of my friends and even strangers contact me for my services, which are free of charge.

EV: You are more than welcome to come join us here at Generation. We are always looking for competent writers and experienced psychologists. In fact, I’ve got a question for you as well, if your advice is, as you say, gratis. Lately, my dreams have been exclusively about sexual encounters… with women. Is this the outward expression of some suppressed desire? Or just the stuff of dreams? Hit me back, 315 Student Union. Be there.

AB: Oh, by all means, yes, please come on down. I love having my position usurped by unfunny, ignorant retards. How’d you know? By the way, Uncle Allen, this isn’t very funny. I know it’s you – I’ve been calling you Dr. Love ever since that time in second grade when you put your fingers in my mouth. Then again, I could be wrong. You might just be some asshole who thinks they are hot shit. Sorry, but that position is reserved for me.

I moved into a new apartment last week, and ever since my first night there I’ve had a rash on my stomach. How do I get rid of it?

EV: It might be bed bugs. Are you sleeping on an old mattress? Have you shined a black light on that puppy? Who knows what’s floating around between the springs? Maybe you’ve started using ,a new body wash. Backtrack and check if there’s anything you’ve changed since you moved in, and see if that’s what could be causing your tummy rash.

AB: Rashes are fickle little fucks, let me tell you. This one time my entire right leg turned purple and started pulsating like a seizure-ridden stallion dying in a trench. It went on for a few days, and eventually I passed out for the weekend, and when I woke up, my leg was back to normal, and I pretty much forgot about it all until tonight. That’s what happens when you pick up prostitutes on Niagara Street and don’t coat your entire body in petroleum, I guess. So, what I’m trying to say is, you’re fucked. Stay away from me. I don’t want your ebola.