Take my advice, Beverly Hills kids

MOST MORNINGS I wake up at 9:30, make an inordinately complicated breakfast, read two newspapers, go to the gym, take a shower sometime around 3 p.m. and, if it happens to be a Sunday, write penis jokes for this column for two hours before making dinner. So it made sense that Beverly Hills High School asked me to be the keynote speaker for its career day. Who else has time to talk to high school students in the middle of the day?

The answer, it turns out, is Omarosa Manigault Stallworth. She's the reject from Donald Trump's first "Apprentice" show who TV Guide named the most hated reality star of all time (which is particularly impressive since that list includes Donald Trump). Omarosa and I would be co-keynote speakers, each doing two shifts in front of an auditorium packed with 400 kids. I was told that the public high school added Omarosa due to pressure from the Beverly Hills Chamber of Commerce.

As I drove into the high school at 7:30 a.m., I couldn't believe my ego was so big that I was willing to wake up early to mentor some of the richest children in the nation. Walking in a daze around the school looking for the auditorium, I was pleased to find the student body was racially diverse. There were Ashkenazi Jews, Sephardic Jews and Persian Jews.

After some brief student council announcements about "senior pajama day," reassuring me that even in Beverly Hills the student council is full of dorks, I was on. I was supposed to hit the stage after Omarosa, but she was stuck in traffic, leaving me with an entire hour to kill. To talk about careers. Which I only tenuously have. I decided to start by delivering Omarosa's speech for her. I figured it started with "I am a proud black woman."

Switching gears, I said: "I know who you are. You are rich, don't study too hard and have probably done cocaine -- in short, you're well on your way to being president."

Forty minutes in, tapped out of any career advice ("follow your heart," "try lots of stuff," "seriously, stop using cocaine"), I started taking questions. This is when it became clear that career day for Beverly Hills High School students is the lamest charity invented since the Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones wedding registry.

From their questions, it was obvious that these kids already knew about the intricacies of journalism, television writing, publicity and on-air work. I was basically giving guidance about whether to work for daddy's production company as a producer or as a development executive. After much thought, I told them I leaned heavily toward producer. No one slips strippers fake business cards that say "development executive."