December 12, 2001 | 11:34 AM

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college. I knew it as I rolled a twenty dollar bill, stuck it in my left nostril and sucked another line off of Kierstyn's mirror at 2 O' clock in the afternoon.

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college when I woke up at 5PM and realized I'd missed the midterm for the Environment and Mankind class that I had only been to once.

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college when I spent my last fifty bucks on weed instead of textbooks.

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college when I spent days on end in the Boston Public Library reading Baudelaire and trying to write the same awful poem about *him* over and over again and it never came out right anyway.

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college when my mom called me on the phone and asked me what my grades were and I told her I didn't know yet, but I was sure they were all going to be A's and B's. I was lying. I didn't care.

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college when one of my roommates transferred to the room across the hall because our all night partying was causing her to fail, and I didn't care. I just kept partying anyway.

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college when I offered to write people's papers for them if they would pay me 50 bucks. I wrote lots of papers. The papers got A's. I made lots of money.

I knew I was going to get kicked out of college. I wanted to get kicked out college.

Why?

Just to see what would happen.