Sure, I own an abnormally high number of Hawaiian shirts. And I have a vintage Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie-poster hanging on my dorm wall —"Hey dude, this is no cartoon."

If the need arises, I'm capable of eating a pretty huge piece of pizza, and then eating another one. Every once in a while I'll grow a mustache and keep it for a few days just for the dirty hilarity of looking like a Spanish Conquistador.

I take pride in being knowledgeable in Simpsons lore and having seen every episode of Macgyver.

Yeah, I guess you could say I'm a fun-loving muchacho who knows how to party. Recently I realized, however, that I can't even touch at least 57 people here at Penn State. This conclusion, and the reason that led to it, is so mind-blowing that I felt an obligation to impart it on the masses.

Less than a fortnight ago, I met someone in my building — for purposes of anonymity I'll call him Disco Stu (Disco Stu doesn't advertise), who is one of 57 people majoring in Professional Golf Management. I'll repeat. Professional Golf Management.

Yes, Penn State University has a major that, for all intents and purposes, is golf. This news makes me recall my childhood dream of never growing up and living at Toys R Us for the rest of my life.

My plan was to ride the big wheels around the store for transportation, do chemistry experiments with those gooey alligators that grow when you put them in water, eat Reese's Pieces, and play with everything in the store forever.

Unfortunately for me, one must be very good at golf to enter the PGM program, and it's a little more than just gooey alligators and Reese's Pieces.

But just the existence of such an amazingly fanciful major makes Toys R' Us seem more and more plausible. Fifty-seven varieties of Heinz ketchup, and 57 students on campus that will probably never grow up, and spend most of their lives partying on the green.

The Professional Golf Management major, referred to frequently as PGM, is offered by only five universities in the country. It takes aspiring golf professionals, makes them into actual golf professionals, and then trains them how to give golf lessons. Students must go through the GPTP—Golf Professional Training Program, and pass the PAT—Player Ability Test, making them professional golfers.

Disco Stu informed me that PGM majors are also required to intern every summer at a country club of their choice anywhere in the country, and that usually the country club pays their rent.

This summer I'm paying rent for my old room in my own house, and I'll still have to sleep in the same bed as Jawolsky, the guy my parents got to replace me after I left home. Requirements for my major include six credits of quantification in a class of my choice anywhere on campus.

But I'm not really good at golf, I'm just really good at putting a lot of M&M's in my mouth.

If only Penn State offered an M&M major. . .

Disco Stu also proudly related that the PGM program has 99 percent job-placement. This means that he has no trouble mapping out his future. "When I graduate I'm gonna be the head Golf Pro at a country club, and just chill—soak up all the high culture," he told me one night. Sounds like a plan.

In fact, it sounds like the best plan I've heard in a long time.

Disco Stu and his buddies are going to college for golf, in a prestigious program for something they love, and when they graduate they will find a job doing what they have always wanted to do: Living, breathing, teaching, and playing golf at a country club for the rest of their lives. Who says you can't live at Toys R' Us forever?

The Professional Golf Management major stands as proof that college students never have to grow up.

It stands as a testament to the power of the human dream. The 57 people majoring in golf at Penn State should be admired for having the courage to never give up on their dreams, or feel the need to ever enter the real world.

Because that real world is harsh, and it's full of misery and hard work, and people trying to rip away your life's ambitions, throw them on the ground, and spit on them.

Sure, I may not be one of the lucky few able to live and work in a freshly-cut grassy fantasy, but I'm sure glad that there actually are a lucky few.

Because when I graduate from this University with a diploma, a slap in the face, and a life of unemployment ahead of me, it will inspire me to know that there are others graduating with a diploma, a Hawaiian shirt, and a life of Palm Springs ahead of them. And maybe, if I'm inspired enough, I might just end up at Toys R' Us.

I just hope my parents will be able to post my bail when I'm arrested for squatting.