Estimated reading time: 10 minutes
The Peculiar Economics of Borrowed Wisdom
Here’s a fun fact about the literary world. Write one moderately successful book about depressed androids or vampire caterers. Suddenly every liberal arts college wants you to deliver a satirical commencement speech. Society collectively decided that making up stories about talking fish qualifies you for dispensing life advice. Those 22-year-olds in rented polyester gowns are waiting.
This entire tradition is just an elaborate scam. Universities figured out something brilliant. Parents would tolerate three-hour ceremonies in uncomfortable folding chairs. But only if a vaguely famous person were involved. It’s genius, really. “Yes, your daughter is $250,000 in debt for Medieval Pottery Studies. But hey—the apocalypse-narrated-by-a-golden-retriever guy is here!”
Douglas Adams gave commencement speeches. Neil Gaiman inspired thousands of graduates to “make good art.” He probably wondered whether any would actually pay rent with it. David Foster Wallace delivered a speech about water and awareness. It was so profound it made people cry. That seems unfair at a ceremony where everyone’s already emotionally unstable.
The joke is on us. These brilliant satirists secretly know something. No 22-year-old has ever changed their life trajectory from a 20-minute speech. Especially not from someone who makes a living lying for money. Maybe that’s why the best commencement speeches are satirical commencement speeches in disguise.
The Great Sunscreen Debacle of 1997
Let’s talk about the most famous commencement speech that never happened. Kurt Vonnegut’s “Wear Sunscreen” address.
Except it wasn’t Vonnegut. That wasn’t even a speech. It was a newspaper column by Mary Schmich of the Chicago Tribune. The speech got forwarded around the early internet faster than you could say anything. Someone slapped Vonnegut’s name on it. “Famous dead author says to wear sunscreen” sounded more authoritative than “newspaper columnist offers life advice.”
The internet, in its infinite wisdom, decided something. Vonnegut wrote about massacres, time travel, and fundamental meaninglessness. But he definitely took time to remind people about UV protection. This tells us everything about how desperately we want literary heroes to care. We want them to care about our mundane problems.
Vonnegut probably saw this from whatever dimension he’s currently occupying. He thought, “Well, at least they didn’t attribute it to Hemingway.”
The piece was actually good advice. Wear sunscreen, don’t worry about the future, be kind to your knees. But it became famous for the wrong reason. We believed a renowned author said it. Which raises an uncomfortable question. Does the same advice sound profound or pedestrian depending on who said it?
This is equivalent to a wine tasting experiment. Someone swaps the expensive bottle for Two-Buck Chuck. Everyone still raves about the “notes of oak.” It’s the kind of silliness that makes for a perfect satirical commencement speech.
Other Crimes Against Attribution
The Vonnegut sunscreen incident isn’t alone in the Hall of Fame of Literary Misattribution. The internet is a beautiful, terrible place. Gandhi apparently said things about Facebook. Einstein waxed poetic about fish climbing trees. Mark Twain said literally everything witty that anyone forgot the source of.
Mark Twain’s most significant contribution to literature wasn’t his novels. It was becoming the default author for every pithy quote that needed credibility. “If you don’t read the newspaper, you’re uninformed. If you do read it, you’re misinformed.” That sure sounds like Twain, right? Maybe. Or maybe it was someone on Twitter/X in 2009 using @RealCroakerMCGhee. Nobody knows anymore. Does it even matter?
Dr. Seuss never told you something. “Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.” That was Bernard Baruch. He was a financier who stepped into the abyss in 1965. He probably didn’t expect to lose his quotes to a man who wrote about Sneetches.
Our desperate need to attribute wisdom to famous people reveals something sad. Good advice only counts if it comes with a recognizable name attached. We’re all just looking for permission from dead authors. We want them to validate what we already know is true.
Here’s my theory. The internet is just one big commencement ceremony. We’re all simultaneously the nervous graduates and the famous speaker. We’re making stuff up as we go and hoping someone believes us. The real satirical commencement speech is the one we’ve been giving ourselves all along.
So You Want to Give a Satirical Commencement Speech
Fast forward to some glorious future. I’ve achieved William S. Burroughs’ levels of cult following. “Otter Boy” has been adapted into a moderately successful streaming series. A small liberal arts college in Vermont made a questionable decision. They invited me to address their graduating class.
I’d actually say what I was thinking. None of the sanitized, inspirational pabulum that’s expected. Every great satirical commencement speech starts with a decision. The decision to abandon pretense and tell the truth.
I’d stand at that podium. I’d look out at a sea of hungover 22-year-olds. They just want their diplomas and access to the free lunch. I’d tell them the truth.
Here’s what I wouldn’t say. “Follow your dreams.” “Be the change you wish to see.” “The future is yours.” Because that’s all bullshit, and they know it. They’ve just spent four years and the GDP of a small nation. They studied Philosophy or Gender Studies or How to Make Art That Nobody Will Pay For. They’re terrified.
So here’s what my satirical commencement speech would actually say.
My Satirical Commencement Speech: The Address They’ll Regret Inviting Me to Give
“Good morning, graduates. Congratulations on completing your $250,000 liberal arts education. It has prepared you for absolutely nothing in the real world. Except having opinions about things.
“Everything you learned here was wrong. Not incorrect… just irrelevant. Your professors taught you to think critically, write persuasively, and analyze literature. Meanwhile, the job market wants you to know Excel. It wants you to tolerate corporate speak. It wants you to not cry in the bathroom during your lunch break.
“You’re worried about finding your passion. “Passion” is a lie we tell ourselves. It justifies working 80-hour weeks for exposure and equity. Your passion might be sleeping in and eating sandwiches. Those are valid life goals. I support them.
“Your parents are out there beaming with pride. You’re the first in your family to graduate. Or the last. Or somewhere in the middle. Honestly, they want you to move out. They want to turn your room into a home gym or a Swinger’s Room. The greatest gift you can give them is simple. Don’t end up on their couch at 35 explaining your cryptocurrency podcast is “about to take off.””
(Author note: This is the heart of any good satirical commencement speech. Acknowledging the gap between graduation fantasies and actual reality.)
The Part Where Every Commencement Speech Gets Inspirational (But Not This One)
“Here’s what nobody tells you. Being an adult is mostly just Googling things and hoping you don’t die.
“Success isn’t about climbing some metaphorical ladder. It’s about finding a ladder you can tolerate. Climb it occasionally when you have energy. Sometimes just sit at the bottom eating snacks. That’s allowed. Nobody’s checking.
“You’ve been told to “make your mark on the world.” Your mark might just be being kind to people. And not being terrible on social media. That’s enough. The world has enough marks on it already. It could use a few people who show up and do their jobs reasonably well. People who don’t make everything about themselves.
“The meaning of life isn’t some grand revelation. It’s just a series of small decisions not to be a jerk. Enlightenment is remembering to call your mom. And not arguing with strangers on the internet. This is where a traditional commencement speech would pivot to uplift you. This satirical commencement speech will not.
“You’re going to fail. A lot. That’s the point. Failure is just life’s way of saying, “Try something different, genius.” I’ve written books that sold twelve copies. Eleven to my family and one to a perplexed person in Germany. And yet, here I am. Somehow qualified to tell you how to live.”
The Uncomfortable Truths They Don’t Put on Hallmark Cards
“Your degree doesn’t matter as much as you think. The real treasure was the crippling student loan debt you made along the way. I’m kidding. Sort of. The debt is real, and it’s terrifying. You’re going to be paying it off forever. Meanwhile, your parents will reminisce about working their way through college with a summer gas station job.
“You’re not special. That’s liberating. You’re one of millions of graduates this year. You’re all equally convinced you’re going to change the world. Most of you won’t. And that’s okay. The world doesn’t need changing as much as it needs people who will show up. People who won’t make things worse.
“Your twenties are supposed to be a mess. Everyone else is also pretending to know what they’re doing. The successful people you admire are just better liars. A frank satirical commencement speech should probably mention this.
“Your first job will be terrible. That’s the tradition. We all have to work somewhere that slowly crushes our souls. We do this before we figure out what we actually want to do. Think of it as hazing, but with a 401(k) match.”
The Part Where I Accidentally Say Something True
“But here’s the thing. And I’m being serious now, which should concern you. You’re more resilient than you think. You’ve already survived the most challenging part. Being a teenager with acne and self-doubt. And that one professor who wouldn’t round your 89.4 up to an A… even after an offer of sex.
“The only absolute failure is not trying because you’re afraid of looking foolish. News flash: you’re going to look foolish anyway. We all do. I once sent a query letter to a literary agent. It said “Dear [Agent Name]” in the subject line. Still haunts me.
“The secret to happiness isn’t achieving your goals. It’s learning to enjoy the weird, messy, embarrassing process of becoming someone. Whoever you’re going to become. It’s okay to change your mind. To quit the job everyone said you’d be mistaken to leave. To move to a farm in Virginia and raise a pig named Trouble McFussbucket.
“Hypothetically.
“Maybe.
“You have time. That’s the most important thing I can tell you. You have time to fail, recover, fail again, pivot, reinvent yourself. There is time to figure out that the thing you thought you wanted was someone else’s dream. You accidentally adopted it. Even a satirical commencement speech has to acknowledge this truth.”
My Actual Advice (Now That I’ve Wasted 15 Minutes)
“If you want real advice, here it is.
“Write down the weird thoughts. That shower idea about O.J. Simpson being the meaning of life might be your first novel. The ridiculous stories are the ones worth telling.
“Be kind, but not a doormat. Boundaries are just kindness with a spine.
“Find people who laugh at your jokes. That’s love. Everything else is just details.
“Don’t compare your behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel. Instagram is lying, and everyone is actually a mess.
“Take naps. Seriously. Being well-rested is more important than being productive. Capitalism would prefer you not know this. Every satirical commencement speech should include permission to sleep.”
In Conclusion: What Makes a Great Satirical Commencement Speech
“So, graduates of [Insert College Name Here], you’re about to leave these hallowed halls. You face a future of entry-level positions. Impossible housing markets. The slow realization that nobody knows what they’re doing. Remember this: Life isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about making shit up as you go.
“The commencement speech you’ll actually remember isn’t the one from the famous author. It’s the one from your roommate at 2 AM after too many beers. When they told you that you were going to be okay…. and that they think they have a talking mole on their back. The best satirical commencement speech is the one that tells you the truth. Instead of what you want to hear.
“I’m just a guy who writes weird books about otters and conspiracy theorists. I have no more wisdom to offer than anyone else.
“That’s perfectly fine.
“Congratulations. You’re screwed. But so is everyone else. Go forth and be weird.
“And for God’s sake, wear sunscreen.”
Class dismissed. Try not to attribute this satirical commencement speech to Kurt Vonnegut.
Key Takeaways
- Many successful authors deliver commencement speeches, but their wisdom often gets lost in translation.
- The ‘Wear Sunscreen’ column, misattributed to Kurt Vonnegut, highlights the absurdity of seeking wisdom from famous figures.
- People often value advice based on its source, regardless of its inherent truth.
- A great satirical commencement speech acknowledges the gap between graduation fantasies and harsh realities.
- Ultimately, true wisdom lies in embracing uncertainty and asking better questions rather than expecting all the answers.
Related Links
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His first manuscript was composed entirely of punctuation marks and confused sketches. He's since published "Not Bukowski" (poems that don't rhyme) and "Slop and Swell from a Festering Mind" (essays so concerning that bookstores check on his wellbeing). He once spent three hours photographing a rare bird that turned out to be a plastic bag, and he's the only person banned from church bake sales for "weaponized brownies." Inheriting absurdism from Vonnegut and Adams, sprawling narratives from Irving, and weaponized failure from Moore, he writes about conflicted everymen struggling through supernatural chaos.
He has two new, offbeat novels waiting foran agent or a publisher: "Truth Tastes Like Pennies" and "Elliot Nessie."
He remains unconvinced that birds aren't surveillance drones.
More biographic lies...err...info.
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- Scientists Confirm Sperm Whales Have Language. Gary is pleased. - April 16, 2026
