You’re new here. I can tell. You have about you that iridescent aura of innocence. I envy you, ready to finish off your teenage years with a flourish.

Congratulations. Really, you deserve it. You’ve done very well to get here. And, what’s more, I’m sure you’ll find that the Stanford experience lives up to its reputation.

However, as with much in life, the Farm is not without its dangers. I know that from the outside it appears an idyllic hideaway, where the troubles and cares of everyday life are swept away by one’s burgeoning intellectual development — but appearances are, as they say, deceptive.

As you wade your way through the ocean of your freshly-scrubbed and (almost) acne-free peers, you will occasionally see those who lack the hard body and wide-eyed ignorance of the undergraduate. Who are these apparent derelicts?

Well they, too, are students. Just older. Much, much older. Yes, that’s right, despite its innumerable strengths as a school, Stanford still fails in one vital area. It tolerates graduate students.

Needless to say, this isn’t heavily advertised. I’m sure many of you may not have even realized that you would be sharing your air with those musty, decaying scraps of humanity that will never cease their clawing for qualifications.

Further, I suspect that even if you knew Stanford’s dirty secret you would have assumed the graduates would be hidden away, not polluting your space.

It’s not just the pervading stench of graduateness that is so bothersome. Nor is it simply the clutter of bicycle-helmet-wearing social rejects. No, what is particularly worrisome is the menacing atmosphere of sketchiness that these students create.

In this enlightened age, no one should have to feel preyed upon. Sexual harassment should be constrained to frat parties and locker rooms. Yet, despite this, nowhere on campus is safe from sketchy stalkers.

You may believe that confining your burnished biceps within a Stanford-stamped wife-beater should afford you some privacy. You’re wrong. They will stare.

And young ladies: I know that you wish to be free to wear your branded hot pants without the wrong sort of older gentleman glancing your way; unfortunately, though, the misogynists still roam free.

If such lecherous looking were only found in common rooms and open spaces during daylight hours, perhaps it would not be so bad. After all, tolerance is all the rage here on the West Coast.

However, some of these graduates have the audacity to venture out at night, even to the most inappropriate of venues — the deliberate misunderstanding of parties that are “open to everyone” is all-pervasive.

Furthermore, they teach. You can’t even avoid them by choice. They’ll guide your discussion groups, grade your work and use both of those jobs as an excuse to make eye contact.

Along with taking such liberties as conversing outside of class, they also have the audacity to fail in their duty to be at your beck and call during every waking hour. I mean, it’s not like they have anything better to do than instantaneously answer your e-mail with a question about the midterm - sent at 3 a.m. the night before the exam.

I’ve always found that the best way to deal with a mangy dog is to hurl abuse and small stones. While the latter is frowned upon when it comes to suppressing the activities of future Ph.D.s, the former is a powerful tool.

With sufficient curling of one’s upper lip, withering sarcasm can actually wither. Remember mocking people for their apparent inadequacies is the best way to destroy their confidence and ensure that they know their place at the bottom of the social hierarchy.

And, what’s more, nothing will make you feel more like you and your brethren belong at the top than looking down at those below.

Still not convinced graduate students are all terrible people that you should have nothing to do with? Well, in that case e-mail navins@stanford.edu for a personal demonstration.