Master of Nothing
Here’s the biggest twinge of regret for not applying to grad school that I’ve had so far: It makes no fucking sense to say you’re the Bachelor of the Universe!
I wish my soon-to-be degree had more roaring thews attached. I mean, even Associate of Science sounds kind of cool, in a dark suit and sunglasses sort of way. As an Associate of Science you’d get to hand briefcases full of cash money and important documents to Science’s underworld contacts. But as a Bachelor, I’ll just be getting a lava lamp of Science and some cockroaches of Science for my efficiency apartment of Science. Instead of ominously placing my hand on my gun while Science negotiates a drug run, I’ll eat baked beans of Science straight from the can.