Got your calendar put up yet? Don’t bother. The holes in the pages are never big enough fit over the screw in the wall. And so you take a day or two off work to track down a special punch to make them larger. But no matter how hard you try, the new ones never line up properly, leaving you stuck with something that looks like the ghost costume Charlie Brown made for Halloween trick-or-treating.

Meaning the dang thing hangs there totally squeejawed.

Not that we give a rip about something that inconsequential. Far as we’re concerned, it just adds character. But let She Who Must Be Obeyed get a gander at it, and hoo-whee! The conniption she throws … well, let’s just say it’s enough to send even the most ferocious Tyrannosaurus Rex hightailing it for the hills. Take it from us. There’s only one place calendars belong.

In the black hole.

We’re pretty sure that’s where the phone that disappeared last week wound up. Along with last year’s income tax refund we never got and the letter from the Nigerian prince telling us he’d wire us his fortune as soon as we sent him our bank account number. That’s the trouble with black holes. They’re always showing up when they’re not wanted. And never around when you need them. Which explains why we got stuck with this week’s dreaded polar vortex.

Apparently, there are some things even black holes draw the line at.

Now, that’s a head-scratcher for sure. But it looks positively normal compared to what’s going on in Big Rapids, Michigan. Where the Ferris State University admissions squad is having such a hard time growing their enrollment they’re accepting just about anybody these days. Including a couple of goobers named Ann and Fry — we think they should have named them Burger and Fry instead — and get this. They aren’t even real people.

They’re AI.

It’s all — and the pooh-bahs say this with a straight face — in the name of learning what it’s like to be a student today and how it feels to be a freshman on campus. So they can improve the student experience. Granted, a lot of college profs we know are odd ducks, but it seems decades of trying to figure out what makes students tick — simply asking them is too much work — has left them so discombobulated, they’ve thrown in the towel and decided to study avatars instead. Which begs the obvious question. Has anyone called Cheech and Chong?

To tell them who stole their stash.

Thanks to a bright blue Muppet who used to say “K” is for kooky, nothing much surprises us anymore. But enrolling emojis on full-ride scholarships so they can lead classroom debates on such important philosophical matters as the pros and cons of yelling “movie” in a crowded firehouse and whether time has truly come today — or empowering them to engage in such cherished post-secondary pastimes as rushing the Delta Tau Chi fraternity, passing out after the kegger at the Thursday night toga party, and supplanting the five-star recruits on the national championship contending football team so they can graduate summa cum laude — is about as wacky-doodle as it gets.

Even if they do have two-piece custom-made pool cues.

Fortunately, it’s almost budget time in Lansing. And if lawmakers really want 60 percent of Michigan’s working-age adults to be college-credentialed by 2030, it’ll take only one little appropriation. An all-expense-paid trip for Burger, Fry and company to the Hyades Cluster where the nearest black holes are lurking. Write it down on your calendar.

Best money ever spent.

— Talk Back with Doug Spade and Mike Clement is heard every Saturday morning from 9 a.m. to noon Eastern Time at localbuzzradio.com, Facebook Live and dougspade.com.

This article originally appeared on The Holland Sentinel: Talk Back: When your college classmate is totally AI