Wharton is Paradise

Having jerked off all day to the thought of being accepted to the best business school in the world, you shakily open the letter from "University of Pennsylvania, Office of Admissions, 3535 Market Street, Suite 850, Philadelphia, PA 19104" using your sticky, cum-soaked prestigious fingers. Simultaneously pulsing out a massive load of cum and jumping up with joy, you scream across Hole 12 of your prestigious golf club in the Hamptons to your dad; "I GOT INTO WHARTON!". The only response you hear echoing back is a curt "Your brother got into HBS last year, you sad sack of shit." Whatever. Fuck him and his $4.5 million donation to the Dean. You got into Wharton. You better hurry and show Stacy your letter (thus seducing her into your ($12000) bed) before Chad tells her he got into Dartmouth.

After 11 rejections from 10/10s who weren't willing to sleep with you after you flashed your Wharton acceptance letter to them, you decide to update your LinkedIn to show "Incoming Student at The Wharton School", and proceed to spam requests to connect with every single girl above a 7/10 you see on the "suggested" page, hoping you'd see more success with this strategy than your mishaps on Hinge that results in the cops getting called on you. You go to sleep, thinking to yourself "tomorrow, I'll be waking up with dozens of thirsty messages from women who want to tell everybody that they bedded a Wharton man."