美国最适合装B的10大名校

It's college—a certain amount of douche baggery is acceptable. Desired, even. The question is, what kind of douche do you aspire to be? Here, in this exclusive excerpt from their groundbreaking new book, The Rogers & Littleton Guide to America's Douchiest Colleges, H. L. Rogers and Peter Littleton, Ph.D., rank the schools that lead the nation in douchitude right this second

The "chip on shoulder" douche.

Wearing a forced smile that fades with each step up the frozen, wind-howling slope to classes all winter (October to May) while wondering if this is all worth it for a an Ivy League degree lots of people don't even realize is Ivy League.

I can tell you don't respect me, you asshole.

If You Could Read the Thought Bubble Over Campus: You know what I'm sick of hearing? That Cornell isn't really Ivy League! What the fuck! I paid my $160K! Don't treat me like I went to the University of Michigan. Honestly, is it because no presidents went here? Well, choke on this, you pretentious eating-club ass wipes: Janet Reno! Paul Wolfowitz! Alan mutha-fuzzin' Keyes (transferred to Harvard, '70)! Is it because all anyone ever talks about is how people go to Cornell and then kill themselves? It's a myth! Check the numbers! Or maybe you can't because you weren't required to take any math classes at Brown! Is it because there's a part of the school that's actually a state school, where you can get three faux–Ivy League credits for taking Maple Syrup Production and Beekeeping? I didn't attend the Ag School! I took courses from famous professors just like all you non-student-loan-owing ass hats at Yale and Harvard who keep telling me you'll keep my internship application "on file." You know what? Keep the Penn guy's application on file! Like he went to an Ivy League school. Oh, okay, make the hotel joke. Right, I got my degree from Cornell, and now I'm a bellhop. Hahahahaha! That's hilarious. I haven't heard that before. Fuck you, Columbia. Your football team sucks. Go Big Red! (Is it because our mascot is a "Big Red"?)

Andy from "The Office," Keith Olbermann, Ann Coulter, Adolph Coors, Jr., Lauren Weisberger.

The "All I've got is college football; seriously, don't laugh, all I've got is college football" douche.

College stuff, only drunker.

"What do you guys wanna do today: tailgate at the game, get shitfaced, eat some pizza, and break some windows, or tailgate at the game, get shitfaced, eat some pizza, and break some windows?"

Joe Paterno, "baby" Joe Paterno, "lady" Joe Paterno, "hooker" Joe Paterno.

Never missing a home game, never going to a single lecture, pissing for 637 seconds straight.

"Jesus, I can't feel my face."

Joe Paterno.

He went to Brown and doesn't really drink.

The "Skull and Bones" douche.

Deep suspicion that you may end up being president of the United States; outspoken pride in New Haven (many parts of which scare you); wearing your "sexual flexibility" on your boho sleeve; the belief that, despite the overwhelming odds, you are truly, truly special.

Are you extremely interested in being on the inside, in being wherever the most exclusive place in the world is, but also a little embarrassed about that desire? Was your dad in the CIA? Welcome to Yale, red-hot center of the secret societies: the Carillonneurs, the Lizzie, Mace and Chain, Skull and Bones, Sage and Chalice, the Dramat, Mory's...and, of course, the chronic masturbators' club, also known as the Whiffenpoofs!

When Asked Where You Go to College, Will Respond: "In New Haven."

Passion. Which is your way of feeling superior to the "robots" at Harvard and Princeton. As in, you are passionate about learning and your own awesomeness, and you love to talk passionately about how exciting it is to follow that passion at a place like Yale. And god, isn't it amazing to be at an amazing school full of such amazing people where everyone is so happy to be there?

On the fast track (to elected office, partnership, fame for something arty) while still dressing as if you were reading history at Oxford in 1946.

In Twenty Years Will Be: Bitterly disappointed that you're not president. Or: president of the United States.

The "It's not actually a network, it's more of a cloud" douche.

Because you can't be bothered with "fashion," you wear old Gap jeans, Havaianas flip-flops, a T-shirt with the name of an obscure tech company that ends in a y—Blippy or Swipely or Smackly or Webbly—underneath a Stanford sweatshirt. You have 17,000 Facebook friends, some of whom you've met before, and you plan on starting a company and getting filthy rich someday so that later you can "do good." But, you know, first you have to get filthy rich.

That you are above California, even though you do love the weather.

I'm stalking the stage at TED, wearing a black mock-turtleneck, some skinny Diesels, and one of those creepy wireless headsets. The crowd is with me. I'm saying something about game mechanics and the social good. I'm, like, slaying the room. Then, with Larry Ellison looking on, I make sweet, public love to a speechless Steve Jobs, who is (PRETTY MUCH) A LIVING GOD, and which, by the way, does not make me gay. Then I swig deeply from a bottle of Voss water, announce my IPO, and walk offstage to thunderous applause.

Herbert Hoover, Mike Mussina, John Elway, William Rehnquist, and the biggest douchebucket of the twenty-first century, Tiger Woods (who didn't even graduate)

The "Heidi Montag Bible fellowship" douche

Silken, natural, uniformly blond hair; cryptic messianic Jewish ankle tattoo; black cherry Toyota FJ Cruiser with surf rack on top and a Ride a Wave, Save a Soul bumper sticker on the back.

Are you a Christian but also really want a Mercedes SLK in Caspian blue and to be on whatever the next "Hills" is called? Don't worry. It's all holy. Because at Pepperdine, being Christian isn't like all about washing lepers or giving money away or whatever. It's about the fact that God chose you to be beautiful and hairless and successful.

Well, I know we don't drink, but maybe just a sip. GOSH. GOSH, that's good. This is Red Bull with vodka in it? That's it? Does it make you feel powerful, too? Because I'm feeling so excellent right now. I don't think there's anything wrong with drinking this, as long as you don't do it, like, all the time. How could feeling this good be, you know, bad? I think you're beautiful. You remind me of how beautiful I am. We both have the best abs. I just want to feel you next to me... Um, that wasn't penetration penetration, was it?

Stay celibate until marriage; buy a townhouse in Newport Beach; convert all gays; meet someone with the "three Hs: hot, humble, and holy."

Rod Blagojevich

The "Mitt Romney for President" douche.

Magic underwear; extremely well-pressed, stain-resistant clothes; mini-fridge stocked with Sierra Mist; blond carpet that actually matches the drapes.

Overheard at "Mystery Dinner Date Night": "Can I tell you a secret? I grew a beard last summer."

"Hi, my name is Bryce Young III, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to spare a few minutes of your time...."

"Hi, my name is Bryce Young III. Will you marry me?"

Underground Campus Activity: Screening of Fantasia, followed by cuddle party, followed by communal "smoking" of bubble-gum cigarettes and eventual doffing of overshirts, followed by furtive, conscience-staining masturbation session.

"So You Think You Can Dance," Glenn Beck's novel, Mr. Pibb.

White. Organized. Mormon. Possibly a professional golfer.

All the homeys up in the Celestial Kingdom.

The "My parents are so rich, let's just light this pile of money on fire and watch it burn" douche.

Adderall addiction; on-again, off-again affair with half sister in Geneva; gray wool beanie hat; sestinas and cinquains, but mainly sestinas.

Skipping class; writing stark, brutal short stories about blue-collar oystermen in working-class beach towns on the Redneck Riviera for whom nothing goes right and quiet desperation and methamphetamines are the only mode of coping, and they're not to be judged for that, they're just trying to survive; snorting good cocaine even though cocaine is "over."

Theatre, Creative Writing, Rehab Facility Studies.

The Bennington ConundrumWomen-to-men ratio here is 2:1, and yet there is a 47.5 percent chance that a male student will graduate from Bennington without ever having slept with a female classmate; on the other hand, there is a 22 percent chance a male student will graduate having had sex with every single one of his female classmates.

Bret Easton Ellis.

The "Tokyo Drift" douche.

Douchey Affectations: Sanskrit tattoo sleeve on right upper arm (translation, as far as you know: "Life—hell yeah!"); BassBox Pro installed in the trunk of tricked-out Scion xB; weakness for Cinnabon; rampant heterosexuality.

You were thinking about going to Cozumel with your bros from Sigma Alpha Mu, but then one guy offered up his dad's house in Rehoboth Beach. He has the new Xbox and an albino python that will look awesome around your shirtless neck as you walk the boardwalk.

Muscle Milk Light with ice cubes made from toxic groundwater.

Imagine if Transformers were real. How cool would that be? Or, like, to be Shia LaBeouf, only not as much of a pussy. And to complete the hat trick: What if Megan Fox was washing a Jeep in cutoffs? Dude!

The "motherboard" douche.

The deepest possible relief at being out of high school; "Speed Racer" custom Nike high-tops; T-shirts tucked into high-waisted jeans; paralyzing social-anxiety disorder, which manifests itself in spotty eye contact, an extensive action-figure collection, and a powerful yearning to be away from stupid people and back in the company of lab mice.

"Hey. You need any help with those problem sets?"

None. Facebook is stupid. Foursquare? It's a joke. It's not even cool technology. Plus, any idiot can hack into that shit in two seconds. Watch: You want me to steal your mom's social security number?

2,620 boners waiting for relief.

Downloading anime bondage porn, followed by what you like to call "self-administered hand-jobs."

Pursuing an advanced degree.

Pursuing an advanced advanced degree.

Ahmed Chalabi, Paul Krugman, Carly Fiorina, John Thain, Charles Murray, a million Nobel winners, astronauts, and the "Car Talk" guys.

The "Tim Tebow" douche.

Baggy cut off camo shorts; pristine all-white Nike Air Force 1's with ankle socks poking out just so; Tim Tebow jersey only partly concealing the rip tattoo for your homey on the upper biceps; sun-kissed hair, waxed chest; pierced tongue, or at least eyebrow.

It has a journalism school that's not awful.

"Think I'm gonna skip class and post up by the pool and bronze out, dude. You in?"

Smoke a bunch of schwaggy weed and crank the hip-hop and Godsmack on your way to the Swamp. Get so drunk on grain punch that you pass out on the grass, somewhere between Dane Cook's act and the Steve Miller Band. Have to be carried back to some stranger's dorm room, where you wake up to cheers from the goateed strangers who brought you home and cracked eggs in your hair and drew cocks and balls on your forehead with dry-erase markers. Watch the fourth quarter.

Professional football player; professional basketball player; some rich farmer's chosen politician, propping up land values on dying orange groves with center-right state legislation. Or managing a string of Chipotles.

Joe Scarborough, Steve Spurrier, Camilo Villegas, Erin Andrews, Gatorade.