It’s been 12 years since I wrote my college application essay, but I thought it might be fun to flex that muscle again. In the interest of being “relatable” instead of “Harvardable,” I’ve decided to write for admission at Adams State College. Why Adams State? Because it has the highest acceptance rate in the country. Last year, they let in 99% of the students who applied, rejecting just 1%. By contrast, Harvard admitted just 5.6%. Adams State admitted almost the same percentage of students that Harvard rejected. So this is for the common man. Don’t call me an elitist.

As we head into the homestretch of summer, I’ve started receiving emails from high schoolers who want help with their college application essays. It’s flattering even though it’s a pretty outrageous request. Let’s be honest, kids– I’m not going to chalk up your stupid story about how your dad’s experience as a first-generation immigrant informed your work ethic in AP US History. Unless you’re willing to pack the coffers of my Venmo account with enough pesos to sink the dinghy in which he crossed the Rio Grande. Haha jk, I’d never accept pesos as payment. It’s toy money.

A few basic tips: fill your essay with personal anecdotes. Show us how you overcame adversity in your life. Magnify the instability of your family. Highlight your work ethic and, above all else, explain what you will bring to the university. The admissions committee at Adams State has seen it all. Don’t be afraid to throw in some gritty details.

And now, a sample college application essay that would almost certainly get me a spot at this piece of shit school:

Adams State University Personal Statement

Adams State has been my dream school ever since I googled “colleges” and sorted the results alphabetically. I was raised on an alpaca farm in Western Idaho, and my mother used to tell me in her letters that I was destined for greater things than fur packing. She writes to me once a week on sheets of toilet paper, using blood that she pricks from her fingers. She’s in prison, currently serving a double life sentence for beastiality. She really loved those alpacas.

My father left us when I was seven. Apparently, my mother discovered that he had an entirely secret, second family. She always said she might have forgiven him if that second family hadn’t lived three doors down from us. It’s crazy to think that dad was able to keep such an enormous secret hidden for all those years, so close to home, but his ability to keep secrets was exactly why people trusted him. I once told dad that I was attracted to my sister, and he patted me on the back and said “me too, son,” but he never told a soul. At least twice a week, dad would invent some cockamamie excuse to get out of the house. “The Masons are out of eggs,” he’d say. Then he’d open our fridge and take out a carton of eggs, walk down the street, and fornicate with Mrs. Mason until morning, at which time I assume they cooked the eggs. One day, he simply didn’t return. For a while, we’d see him through their window our way to school. “Hi dad!” we’d shout. He’d close the curtains. Eventually, we got over it. That’s just how things went in Idaho.

The uncertainty of my family life forced me to grow up quickly. I developed peach fuzz under my arms and testicles at the age of ten, and by the following year, it had sprouted into the wiry hair that comprises heavy-duty sponges that can scrub grit out of cast iron pans. Those hairs are hell in your mouth though. Have you ever performed oral sex upon a shedder? You can lose days trying to locate those strands and push them to the front with your tongue, then pincer them out with your fingers.

Our school was located four miles from our house. The bus driver refused to drive to our neighborhood because, once upon a time, he was married to Mrs. Mason. He didn’t like seeing the motor home that he’d financed rocking on its axles all morning. I’m telling you, Mrs. Mason was thirsty and dad had the juice.

With no other option, my sister and I would walk the eight miles to and from school each day. I didn’t mind the walk so much. We’d set off at 4AM and more than once, the pre-dawn dark was scorched by the soaring shrapnel of a meth lab blown sky high. If a lab blew during winter, the legs and arms of the meth cooks would pinwheel through the atmosphere, spewing blood across the snow in spattered, circular patterns. This was what inspired me to become an artist.

I want to study art at Adams State. I love to paint. I spent my summers painting houses, and the stroke of the brush was soothing to me. I’ve only ever painted enormous surfaces like walls, but I’m confident that I can translate what I’ve learned to smaller canvasses. It is my dream to paint naked, heavyset models with a small brush, with more than one color. I read about your art program and it sounds like the perfect fit for me. But even if the art program were to shut down, I would happily paint the buildings on campus. This is the value that I would bring to Adams State.

I’ve overcome a great deal of adversity in my life and I’m willing to perform manual labor for free. For these reasons, I hope to one day call myself a graduate of Adams State University.