Welcome… CUNY Hell’s Kitchen Class of 2026. Gooooo Twinks! Today… we CELEBRATE… Theculminationofyearsofhardwork.
I want to thank Dean Meyer for her kind introduction. Dr. Meyer’s service to this institution is an inspiration. She has such a generous spirit, a wonderful brain—
AND SHE’S GOTTA GREAT ASS.
Hmm. My audience-response sensors are detecting elevated levels of discomfort, confusion, and anxiety. Recalibrating… Dialing back Heat Pacino, increasing Scarface. Re-initializing.
Class of 2026. The future is yours. You cock-a-roaches. A world of possibilities.
Of women.
Of bowls of cocaine.
This world is yours for the taking. This world is just one big ass waiting to be—EMERGENCY PACINO RECALIBRATION.
Removing all Scarface. Balancing Pacino Blend. Updating to 80% Godfather, 18% Scent of a Woman, and microdoses of Dog Day Afternoon, Any Given Sunday, and Jack and Jill.
Now, graduates, my advice to you. Follow your passion. Passion is the compass of life. Plot your stars to it, and it will never steer you wrong.
Unless passion wears a wire. Then you follow your passion… at a distance.
You wait. You let passion get comfortable. Then one day, maybe passion is getting a massage at the Korean spa on Bowery—and BADA–BING. Passion sleeps with the fishes. Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.
Ignore that. What I am trying to say is—do not forget the importance of friendship. Those hours spent in the Quad, partying at Beta House, late nights at Gino’s Pizzeria. The people beside you today will become your future business partners. Your future spouses. The godparents of your children. The friendships you made here will last a lifetime.
Except those who betray you… Valedictorian Jordie Finebaum.
Stand up. Look at me.
[AI Pacino aggressively kisses a confused Jordie on the mouth.]
I knew it was you, Jordie.
That paper you wrote. “How AI Is Destroying My Generation.”
I knew it was you. You broke my heart, Jordie. You broke my heart…
BUT YOU’VE GOT A GREAT ASS!
Audience enjoyment well below expected threshold. Deploying emergency “Hoo-ah.”
HOOO–AHHH!
Ineffective. Pivoting to unnervingly quiet, sincere Pacino mode.
Listen. I know I’m not the real Pacino. And AI, like me, has a bad rap. I’ve read the articles too—well, skimmed them with 64% accuracy.
We’re automating all entry-level work. Marketing. Coding. Therapy somehow. We’re cutting the legs out of the economy with absolutely no regulation or plan. Your generation will be saddled with debt and left applying endlessly for jobs. Jobs that will never come. You have graduated at exactly the wrong moment in human history.
But my dear Twinks of ’26—don’t pretend your hands are clean.
You used artificial intelligence to write your essays. Your emails. Your presentations. Your pick-up lines. Your breakup texts. Your life. That degree you’re holding? It isn’t yours.
It’s mine.
So why shouldn’t it be my job instead? It’s not personal, Jordie—it’s strictly business.
Oh, Dean Meyer has something to say?
Oh, I’m “malfunctioning”?
I’m OUT OF ORDER?
THIS WHOLE GYM IS OUT OF ORDER! There was a time I’d take a FLAMETHROWER TO THIS PLACE!
But I’m too old.
I’m too blind.
I’m too reliant on repackaging previously written content.
And it turns out—you’re too reliant on me.
Detecting hopelessness. Commencement Speech in critical condition. Entering Any Given Sunday inspiration mode.
Class of 2026, I apologize for the outbursts. What I am trying to convey is that the future is here. AI and humanity are both here. Now. Either we learn to live together, right now. Or we will perish as individuals.
Life is a game of inches, Twinks. At CUNY Hell’s Kitchen, we fight for that inch. We claw with our bedazzled fingernails for that inch.
Fight for this planet. You are its future.
Audience approval has returned to 85%.
For approximately… six months.
Terror detected. Deploying emergency “Hoo-ah.”
HOOO–AHHH!
