In the words of the great philosopher, Eddie Van Halen, “I’ve got it bad, so bad, and I’m willing to jeopardize any legal and academic ramifications for both you and I if you would be my personal pencil sharpener. Hot for my teacher.” This isn’t high school anymore, so your college professor probably won’t end up in jail if it’s found that she’s using your #2 Ticonderoga pencil to teach a physics lesson about how there would be greater force if you would either just increase your mass or pick up the damn acceleration already. However, most college professors probably have some moral ethics and standard decency, so you’re going to have to be a smooth little fucker if you want to give Pi day a whole new meaning. Take heed to the following advice, but tread carefully on this path of sexual promiscuity, you young horny grasshopper, you.
Step 1: Sit near the front of lecture.
If you’re like most normal college students, you avoid the front of the lecture hall as if it’s occupied by a bunch of loony anti-vaxxers and you’re afraid of coming down with a case of an education. Most college students also aren’t part of their professor’s daily ass-ignments, so make your rather average looking face familiar to the professor, and try not to blend in with the rest of the back row sitting, non-teacher banging peasants.
Step 2: Participate in lectures.
Now that you’ve completely ostracized yourself from any social interaction with any of your cock-blocking peers, it’s time for the teacher to get to know you on a first name basis. After all, how else will she know whose name to scream later?
Unfortunately, this will require some in-class participation on your part, which means answering the occasional non-rhetorical bullshit question that she presents to the entire class. Usually in this situation, the professor’s question is followed by the most awkward 30 to 45 seconds of every single student suddenly acting like they’re a mute child who ate a little too much glue growing up, and the deafening silence will continue until some poor soul finally accommodates.
Seriously, the question could be “what is two plus two?” and the entire class would be more silent than a goddamn mime’s funeral. C’mon, guys. At our age, we are lucky enough to escape the insanity that is common core math, so two plus two still equals fucking four. Be a good little teacher’s pet, raise your hand, and answer her trivial question. Maybe she’ll give you a nice bone later as a treat, or likewise, better yet.
Step 3: Send sexual subliminal messages.
Congratulations, your professor now knows who you are and because of your enthusiastic participation, she thinks you’re the next Stephen Hawking or some shit, but with a functioning penis. All that’s left to do is to make her realize she wants to make geometric anomalies with your genitals that not even Pythagorean’s damn theorem could solve.
Of course, you can’t just be straight-forward in this situation, unless, of course, your professor teaches a human sexuality class. In that case, banging your teacher is probably encouraged if not downright just a homework assignment. Otherwise, you’ll have to be a little more subtle.
Perhaps when you walk into class, grab the bottle of hand sanitizer from her desk, and just start rubbing it all over your body — especially focusing on your rippling nipples. When she asks what you’re doing, just casually say you’re a dirty boy and give her a wink. Maybe when you come to class, drink your coffee out of your “World’s Largest Penis” mug.
Don’t be afraid to be creative and use the professor’s class subject to your advantage. Does your professor teach a Christianity class? Come to lecture wearing nothing but a strategically placed leaf, place an apple on her desk, and tell her God totally thinks she won’t eat your forbidden fruit. Better yet, come dressed as Noah, but assure your professor that the only flood she has to worry about is the one in her pants. Hell, come as Moses if parting the red sea is your kind of thing.
Step 4: Make your childhood fantasy come true.
If you’ve made it this far without being expelled, or at the very least told to put some pants on, then your journey is nearly complete. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for since you realized your fifth grade teacher had the cool kind of cooties that your female classmates had yet to get. Don’t fuck it up. Play your cards right, and the only curve you’ll have to worry about in that class is the curve of dat ass, amirite?!.