While working at a law firm this summer as the “data input guy,” I had a lot of time to think about life and the world. Ironically, I was cut off from the world while at this job because the powers at be apparently felt like summer workers should have fewer Internet privileges than convicted child pornographers. But I was still able to catch up on all the top stories, WebMarshall be damned.

I learned many things from all of that deliberation. For example, I learned I have no life. And I learned to give up on trying to make sense of things. Attempting to understand our world is like trying to figure out why Spanish soap operas use so many extreme close-ups. Were all Spanish TV directors really that influenced by Jonathan Demme’s work in “Silence of the Lambs”?

Just think about the significant events of the summer. Ricky Williams turned down millions of dollars basically to smoke pot. Britney Spears got engaged to a backup dancer, quashing the “all background dancers are gay” hypothesis.

I also learned that Black Eyed Peas signed a deal with the Dark Lord himself. There was an air of relief after the NBA Finals were over, but then the geniuses behind the Kerry Campaign decided the Black Eyed Peas should “get it started” all over again at the Democratic National Convention. I’m still convinced Kerry will lose because of this.

Another thing I learned this summer is that the Olympics suck. But I can’t figure out if this is a new feeling for everyone or if the Olympics have always sucked and you just don’t notice as a kid. Maybe it’s some sort of rite of passage: Once you realize the Olympics suck, you’ve successfully completed puberty. Yeah, so my voice still cracks and I can’t grow sideburns, but a rule’s a rule. Goodbye, awkward stage. I should get to throw some sort of party for this; people should be giving me cards with money in them. Mazel Tov, me, mazel tov.

Now, not all of this madness is bad. Take a look at the summer’s funniest movie, “Napoleon Dynamite.” In case you didn’t notice, it was PG. In fact, it has potential to overtake “The Sandlot” as the greatest PG movie of our lifetime. I’m actually excited to go fishing just so I can come back and say, “I caught you a delicious bass.”

So from “Napoleon,” I learned that sex debacles and drunkenness are no longer required to make a movie funny, which sort of depresses me. I also learned that Hillary Duff has a sister. Not that it matters; I’d still take one Lindsay Lohan over the two Duffs.

My next lesson stays on the cradle-robbing subject. Well, it’s not really cradle robbing for me, seeing as how I just minutes ago completed puberty. Anyway, what the hell happened to the Olsen twins? Just a month before they turned 18, they hosted Saturday Night Live and subsequently caused everyone to utter, “Huh? I thought they were twins? Who let Calista Flockhart sneak in?” The only thing more predictable than Mary Kate’s admission was the embarrassing performance of the “Dream” Team in the Olympics.

But fret not, for the misfortunes of the twins could work out in the end. They may feel like their domination of the public spotlight is slipping, and decide the only way to get it back is to pose in Playboy. And this outcome, it turns out, was the whole reason for the hype over their 18th birthday. Excellent. I would be able to put up a newer, racier poster of the twins. In this scenario, everyone wins. Except the twins. Now they are just backward, “the pages are stuck together” sluts.

So just when I thought I had finished learning nonsense lessons of the world, I realized, hey, I’m going back to Yale, the center of everything backward and absurd, to learn even more. Where else would you walk into a place as sketchy as York Copy and coolly hand over a hundred-dollar bill? Sure, you think you’re paying for some course packets, but after two years, I think I figured out that those only cost about $2.58 each. I mean, they don’t even give you real receipts, they just give you a piece of fortune cookie paper with purple hieroglyphics on it. You cannot trust two dudes with earrings who work in a 24-hour “copy center” and charge $50 for a course packet.

So, as you can read, I have learned some things this summer. I can only hope you draw wisdom from the lessons I’ve learned. If nothing else, simply remember this: Don’t let the WebMarshalls of the world stop you from Googling your dreams — or Internet porn.

Carl Williott wants to do it with the Olsen twins — all 1.5 of them.