Hey!! What the fuck?! You reject MOI, from the Blue Chips?! I do your startup RSO a favor by gracing you with my damn presence, and this is how you repay me? I bolster the proud resume of having gone to Horace Mann, Riverdale, and Trinity, graduating with an astounding 2.4 GPA, and I didn’t even get caught in the Varsity Blues scandal. Where did you go, some dingy public school? Probably couldn’t afford anything better. What’s your father, a doctor? My dad made it big through the honest work of stepping on poor people and marrying an heiress. Who do you think paid for the new student center, jacque-ass? You uncultured swine. To quote the French — yeah, I’ve lived in France — “Vous êtes une bibliothèque.”
I knew I should’ve just gone to UPenn like my grandfather, John UPenn. But no, my dad just had to pick UChicago from the list of colleges he could get me into. When he realized this school was built in the 1890s, he flipped. Imagine going to a place built after the Civil War. And having all those stupid ideals built into the University’s constitution, none of that would be tolerated at UPenn.
But enough about the University. I filled out your entire application, I gave you the time to interview me when I could have been drinking caviar and eating champagne on my yacht, and what do you do — you know what, that’s it, I will SUE YOU!! My dad’s gonna hire the guy that got O.J. off. Enough with this sad excuse of a club, I need to go back to looking for a fourth lakehouse.
(Editor’s Note: Footnotes have been added by the Dealer.)
 Asked to leave.
 Asked to leave.
 Fire in the chem lab. Arson charge. Ruled as a technicality.
 The author’s tutor.
 That man is dead now.