I’m so rich I must be smart.

Oprah got her honorary degree. The Harvard grads got the wisdom of Oprah. I’m certain it ranks right up there with all the other luminaries who actually attended the school — you know, less wealthy folk like Ralph Waldo Emerson, T.S. Eliot, ee cummings, Henry James, John Updike, John Adams, John Hancock, Philip Johnson, Charles Bullfinch, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Orson Welles. Fortunately, the audio of her commencement address is permanently enshrined here. You’ll find it inspiring, I’m sure.

Unless, like me, you’d prefer to hear the thoughts of a real Harvard graduate who was not invited to this year’s festivities. An excerpt if you need that sort of incentive.

In high school you were National Merit Scholars, student council presidents and captains of your fencing teams. You took dozens of practice SATs, practiced viola for thousands of hours (violinists are a dime a dozen) and French-braided the hair of homeless veterans.

You masterfully tied together a set of emotional symptoms that looked enough like attention deficit disorder to buy you extra time on all your finals and standardized tests. Plus, you got to take the exams in special quiet rooms, where a test facilitator would sharpen the pencils outside, because the grinding sound triggered your acute sensory overload. (Which somehow didn’t preclude your part-time summer job at Blenders Juicery.)

You hired private college advisers to read your essays and hone your interview skills. Just think back to those valuable sessions where you learned to practically leap out of the chair talking about your passion for writing one-act plays in Cherokee, or how your heart raced that summer on the Mongolian steppes when you first spotted an ovoo monitor lizard, once thought to be extinct.

And you learned to deftly walk the college interviewer through your many achievements while still showing carefully modulated self-effacement: “Yes, I helped design the CO2 scrubber that will save humanity from global warming, but it was totally a team effort.”

Then you arrived at this great institution, where you dabbled in a couple of your passions, only to quit them after freshman year because you found new ones: playing hundreds of rounds of “Settlers of Catan” and having long debates into the night over which Stark son is hotter on “Game of Thrones.”

The keys of your $20,000 Powell flute became rusted shut after it was put to use as a bong for the last two years. Your Wilson Pro H22 tennis racquet quickly became a drying rack for your underwear once you found out that the college tennis team was filled with power-hitting recruits from Estonia and the Ukraine who could knock a flash drive off the top of your head with a backhand.

So you relaxed into college life—a well-deserved break after the exhausting race to get here. You’ve spent four years percolating in a warm stew of beer, gender studies and online pornography—which led to the subject of your senior thesis, “Jacobean Dramatic Tropes in Modern ‘Massage Surprise’ Videos.”

Yes, Rob LaZebnik knows his audience. If you want to see what advice he has for the spoiled brats who presently occupy the prestigious houses of Harvard, go here.

On the other hand, you might think he just has a bad attitude. There’s a lot of that going around these days.

Harvard is having a bad year. The football team sucks. Second to Penn? Talk about suck. The boss can hardly hold his head up since that happened.