Richard Bennett has posted the text of an actual* eighth-grade Final Exam from Salina, Kansas, 1895. Below are a few sample questions, each followed by the likely responses of a standard-issue college freshman taking the same Final Exam today:

From Grammar (1895): 1. Give nine rules for the use of Capital Letters.

College Student (2002): The Nine Rules for the use of capital letters are as follows:

1.) At the start of a sentence.

2.) when I write my name, i.e. ‘Corky’.

3.) when I write my brothers’ names, ‘Vax’ (who by the way owes me fifty bucks) and ‘Quinn’ (who’s queer, it turns out — but I respect him anyways)

4.) when I write my Mom and Dad’s names, ‘Debbie’ and ‘Tim’ (Poor Pops outed Quinn; walked in on him quickstroking this guy ‘Vince’ who works over at ‘Great Clips’)

5.) when I write the name of my street

6.) when I write the name of my girlfriend’s street

7.) when I write my girlfriend’s name, ‘Asheley’ (sp.?)

8.) when I’m pissed and want to emphasize words, e.g., THIS TEST IS STUPID

9.) when I mention the nation’s capital, ‘New York’.

Extra Credit: when I cite famous people, like ‘Bell Hooks’ or ‘E.E. Cummings’

From Arithmetic (1895): 6. Find the interest of $512.60 for 8 months and 18 days at 7 percent.

College Student (2002): I’m not “interested” in that kind of piddling-ass jack. Bump the figure up to, say, 10K, and we’ll talk. And I don’t know what all this “interest…for 8 months and 18 days at 7 percent” shit is all about, brah’; ‘Round here, we compound interest daily, and it’s 25% minimum. Note: And DON’T BE LATE [see above — 8] with my bread, dig? Fucking Cherry.

From U.S. History (1895): 7. Who were the following: Morse, Whitney, Fulton, Bell, Lincoln, Penn and Howe?

College Student (2002): David Morse played opposite Jack Nicholson in Sean Penn’s The Crossing Guard. He’s a big, broad-shouldered dude with a soft voice and reddish hair. My Dad went to high school with him. How anybody whose Dad didn’t go to high school with him would know who he is….well, I haven’t a clue, to be honest with ya’. Is this a trick question or something?

Whitney married Bobby Brown and hasn’t been heard from since — though I’d still put money on her in a catfight against Mariah Carey. Glitter! my ass. Little specks of glitter might be all that’s left of Mariah’s frumpy ass once Whitney got those claws into it her. That, and maybe some loose clumps of talentless pop-Diva fat…

Fulton is the old stadium where the Atlanta Braves used to play their home games. Nicknamed “the Launching Pad,” the stadium was likely named after some famous guy named ‘Fulton’. Beefy third basemen Bob Horner would shovel down post-game coldcuts from the clubhouse spread at a pace that’d put Michael Moore’s bloated cheesefry-eatin’ ass to shame. Circa 1982. Today, the Braves play at Turner field, named after that rich dude who sails boats and who used to tap Jane Fonda’s ass — ‘fore he traded her in for a younger and more impressionable model, I mean.

Bell: Too many “Bell’s” to name, but a few examples are that Dracula dude, Bell A. Lugosi; that book — the one we read in english class by the gay fisherman in the cool turtleneck sweaters — Varoom, the Bell Tolls (?); and the famous cracked bell in Chicago that symbolizes our country’s freedom to kick some ass when foreigners fuck with us, like those Calibans did a few months back.

Lincoln: The Presidential dude in the famous punchline. To wit: After a night of heavy drinking and partyin’ with Union officers and some kinky Northern trollops, Lincoln wakes up with a hangover and says, “Wait, I freed who?”

It’s okay for me to tell this joke because (as you know) some of my best friends are Black© , and we live in a multicultural society and all. Plus I dated a Black© girl once — for about two months, I think it was — but her parents didn’t like the idea of her dating a White guy (or a “Cracker®,” as they called me), so we broke it off eventually. Reverse discrimination, you ask? Maybe. But I totally understand, because there’s a long and sad history of racial inequity in this country, a history that needs to be examined constantly — in fact, every minute of every day, if possible! Having felt what it’s like to be discriminated against myself, I’m all into social activism and civil rights and shit now. For instance, I buy FUBU® shirts — but I never wear them. I’m keeping it real — supporting the cause without presuming the pose, as we say. It’s a symbolic gesture on my part, certainly, but if it makes the world a better place for all my homeys, I’m willing to fork over the $70 for some cheaply made flannel shirt to keep the dream alive. In the words of R. Kelly (who pissed on that truck driver in the parking lot of Denny’s but then repented on teevee): ‘Can’t we all just get along?’

Penn: Penn should never be confused with Penn State, or you’ll end up owing your bookie, like, three bills. Which of course you won’t happen to have at the moment, ’cause your bitch girlfriend Asheley (sp.?) is so caught up in watching “Sex in the City” that she forgets to take her fucking pill — and the next thing you know, you’re shelling out two hundred smackeroos for a weekend scrape job (’cause neither of you can afford a kid). Which means, naturally, that you’re a coupla’ hundred clams short when Benny sends his boys calling (the Drakkar Noir-wearing, olive oil-drinking, no-neck-having mutherfuckers), which is how you wind up with this splint on your thumb for three joyless months. No, turns out Penn is some Ivy League nerd warehouse. And the only football those geeks have ever seen are the ones guys like me used to chuck at their melons in highschool. Funny as hell, too — watching them drop their test tubes and shit on Science Fair Day. One dork was even carrying some sort of acid once; when the beaker shattered, he lost two of his little geek toes!

Howe was that rich old guy stuck on the Island with Gilligan and the rest of the castaways. Extra Credit: With Mr. Howe’s money and connections, you can bet your ass he had that B-movie slut Ginger greasin’ his crankshaft 3 times a week — whenever the old Howe woman was out somewhere fluffin’ her feather boas or whatnot. Cagey old Bastard probably promised to hook Ms. Hollywood up with Spielberg or somebody once they got back to the mainland (in exchange for a little Tropic Island Monkey Lovin’). Hell, I know I would. Weren’t no way they were gettin’ off that island, anyway — not with the faggy-ass professor running the show (no offense to you, Doc. I love your class, I really do).

From Orthography (1895): 8. Mark diacritically and divide into syllables the following, and name the sign that indicates the sound: Card, ball, mercy, sir, odd, cell, rise, blood, fare and last.

College Student (2002): What the fuck is “orthography”? Or better, ‘What the fuck is ‘or-tho-gra-phy’?’ You want me to use these words in a sentence or something? Because I think I missed the days on which we covered this stuff. Remember those classes I was forced to skip? When my uncle died in that boating thing I told you about? And then in the same week there was that thing at the Mall, and I had to fly back to San Francisco, because my mom was freaking out when she thought the gardener Rico was involved? I have a note, if you don’t remember, but I’m sure we discussed this in your office that one time… Oh. Then my dog got sick! He’s just a puppy, too, y’now? I mean, he’s fine now, no need to worry — but it was touch and go there for a while. He had a worm in him the size of Tommy Lee’s schlong. No disrespect, but when it comes down to a choice between a sick puppy and studying “orthography,” there’s really no contest. I love my worm-havin’ dog. I hope you understand.

Anyway: ‘Whether you bet on cards or on ball, and no matter how you typically fare in such endeavors (whether you finish first or last, or whether your fortunes rise or fall), it’s important to keep in mind that your bookie doesn’t really care, so long as he’s getting paid his cash money; fuck him over and he’ll show you no mercy — Sir Benny will have his boys bust your ass with a rusty pipe until thick purple blood comes gloppin’ out of your skull, not that watery red shit you get when you cut yourself shaving. Sometimes you can get away with just a broken thumb if you’re hooked up and can offer, say, some hold-over weed (maybe a dime bag?). Also, terrorists operate in cells.‘

From Geography (1895): 6. Name and locate the principal trade centers of the U.S.

College Student (2002): I don’t know about the entire U.S., but I can tell you that around here, it’s the Student Union at 6:00 on Friday and Saturday; all other days, it’s the parking lot at 7-11. Ask for Paco, but code that shit! Don’t just go around asking people, ‘You seen Paco? I want to by some Crystal Meth’ — cause some esse’ll take you for a fuckin’ Narc, and your shit’ll end up in the trunk of an El Camino wrapped in garbage bags and bound with twine. And nobody wants to spend his last minutes in the trunk of an El Camino with a bunch of Gordita wrappers and empty Miller bottles. Trust me on this.

*[Crimson Crusader® Glenn Kinen points out that this supposed “actual” exam is in all likelihood a hoax; which of course does little to diminish the parodic brilliance and verbal pyrotechnics of the above post (the aim of which, simply, was to use the phrase “loose clumps of talentless pop-Diva fat” in a blog entry. Mission accomplished!) –ed.]