Doug Borkowski, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but please quit sending me those goddamn e-mails. As a college student – and let me speak for all of us here – I’m repulsed by any financial advice from anyone other than that “Mad Money” guy, because he’s funny and he yells and it looks like he’s flirting with an aneurysm every time his beet-red forehead pulsates with veiny anger.

It doesn’t matter how sensible it is. One time when my parents called me about student loans I shot-putted my cell phone into the other room, sending it whizzing by my roommate’s head and nearly decapitating him.

But here’s the thing, Doug – it was completely involuntary. It’s like the Great College Spirit took over my soul and commanded me to throw it. It’s frightening to think that I would have had to bury my roommate following his cellular decapitation. But that’s how much we hate financial advice.

I take pride in spending my money with reckless abandon. I want you to know that last weekend I drunkenly spent more than $15 on sandwiches and hot dogs.

I’m not sure if you’re aware of the nutritional value found at Welch late-night bingeries, but I should technically be dead right now. Forget financially sound, I’m not even well-being sound.

Maybe the reason I’m so apathetic is because of the alphabet soup. W-9s, IRAs, EITCs – I may know what they are, but how can I retain all those terms AND college basketball scores? I’m only one man.

And speaking of acronyms, it’s hard to be tied up in money matters when I’m much too worried about all those PYTs. You feel me, D-Man? Yeah, you know what’s up. Can I call you The Big Borkowski?

Sorry, I digress.

I want you to know that it isn’t just you, Doug. I was so lazy that for about two months I only put my trash in Hy-Vee bags because I didn’t feel up to go to the store and spend the $3 to buy legitimate trash bags. The thing was, it took much more effort and my floor became littered with random food debris because of it. I’m so lazy that I’m living in squalor, Doug.

And if you need to have any more proof of how unmotivated I am, it’s been three-plus years of e-mails from you that I didn’t want, and I never took the 15 seconds to unsubscribe.

If you’re reading this and you’re a student, ask yourself honestly if you ever even knew you could unsubscribe. Well, guess what, you can. It involves actually opening the e-mail.

Now, listen, the e-mail thing is a stellar idea. I check my e-mail so compulsively that, if a Gmail technician looked at my activity, he’d probably flag me to the FBI. But the problem is my brain prioritizes every e-mail in a yes-or-no fashion. Someone tagged me on Facebook: yes. Stephens is having “My Little Pony Live”: no. I’m sorry to say you have fallen into that realm, the one inhabited by people dressing in pony costumes and demanding $20 to have you see it. Doug, I wish it didn’t have to come to this.

But all hope is not lost. The answer, I believe, lies in smoke and mirrors. It’s time for you team up with Campustown bars and inject lucrative FAC deals into your e-mails. Or a coupon for a free small drink with the purchase of a Beef ‘n Cheddar combo at Arby’s. Something – anything. People still wouldn’t read your stuff, but having your e-mail opened is the first step to success.

Wow, looks like I’m the one giving the advice now, huh? If you want to unsubscribe to this at any time, please close the paper. Just kidding there, Dougster.

I know this letter to you must sound rather depressing, but buck up. You’ll find solace in knowing your e-mails will perpetuate in students’ inboxes after I’m gone.

They’ll go down in the unopened e-mail hall of fame, right next to “INCREASE P3N1S SIZE NOW!!!1” and those chain letters moms send about infant pandas.

The truth is, we all want a gigantic penis and like to look at adorable fluffy animals. We do. But like your well-intended advice, there just isn’t the time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, “Rock of Love II” is on.

– Rob Lombardi is a senior in advertising from Dubuque.