Just like no Trump has ever served in the military, and historically have done everything they can to avoid the draft, no Trump has ever gone to Harvard. As a malignant narcissist, not being accepted to something is a lifelong wound to his fragile ego.
Even Dick Bulger got closer to Harvard than Trump ever will!
It was a crisp autumn morning in Revere Beach, where Dick Bulger—local roast beef enthusiast, part-time CB radio philosopher, and full-time Michelob connoisseur—decided he was finally going to turn his life around. He’d heard somewhere (probably from a hungover guy at the Keno lounge) that “a Harvard degree can really open doors.” Naturally, Dick figured this meant the automatic sliding doors at the Olive Garden would finally stop jamming on him.
Determined, Dick dusted off his “fancy” outfit—a Bruins jersey, his least-stained sweatpants, and a scally cap he swore used to be white. Clutching his resume (which was just a napkin from Kelly’s Roast Beef with “I know a lot about radios” scribbled in Sharpie), he waltzed into the Harvard admissions office like he owned the joint.
“Hello, good sir,” Dick said to the startled receptionist, using his best Boston aristocrat accent, which sounded like someone gargling Sam Adams. “I’m here to enroll in the big H. Harvard. You know, the fancy place with the smart people.”
The receptionist, a bewildered undergrad, tried to explain that admissions didn’t quite work that way. But Dick was already deep into his “interview.”
“For my application essay,” Dick declared, “I present this.” He pulled out a Polaroid of himself standing triumphantly in front of the Saugus McDonald’s sign, wearing a sash that read ‘King of the CB Airwaves, 1997’. He handed it over like it was a Nobel Prize-winning photo.
“I got grit,” Dick continued. “I once reversed a U-Haul with no mirrors down Revere Beach Parkway. I singlehandedly made a CB radio out of an old toaster. AND—I once wrestled a raccoon for a bag of Funyuns. Who needs legacy when you got raw talent like that?”
At this point, two security guards—wearing khakis and suspiciously Ivy League haircuts—approached. Dick, sensing the tension, tried to salvage the situation.
“Wait! I’m a diversity hire! I’m from Revere! And I’ll bring my own onions to the dining hall!”
Before he could finish explaining his innovative approach to microwave burritos, Dick was politely escorted out. But not before he shouted, “I’ll be back with my radio resume! You’ll be BEGGING me for a case study!”
Undeterred, Dick returned to his car—a rusted-out ’87 Buick Regal with “HARVARDD BOUND” painted on the side in Wite-Out—and fired up his CB radio. He broadcasted his tale to anyone who’d listen.
“This is Dick Bulger, Harvard Class of Never. Over and out. But mostly out.”
And so, Dick Bulger didn’t get into Harvard. But he did manage to get banned from their bookstore for trying to use Dunkin’ gift cards as currency. Which, to him, was a win.
