As a slacker, I feel like an authority in the case of people bribing “college insiders” to doctor their kids’ scores on the SAT.

I have experience in the area of being exposed as a cheater. Back In The Day, an English teacher at my high school would occasionally give us pop quizzes. She’d hand out a quiz on the part of Merchant of Venice, or “MOV,” as I vaguely remember Us Punk Kids calling it, we had been assigned to read the night before.

Us Punk Kids in the corner would start collaborating with the one fella who actually read the book. One week, she handed our quizzes back, and I found I’d scored a three out of ten.

“How did I only get three?!” I inquired [a reporter asks], pointing at the quiz of the student who had the gall to read the book. “He got nine!”

“Did you actually read any of the questions?” the teacher replied.

Turns out, she had adjusted the questions so you weren’t sitting next to someone with the same pop quiz. I got all the questions right, just not in the correct order.

That was probably a good lesson to learn from a random MOV quiz in high school than after I starred in a sitcom that doesn’t hold up as well as TGIF stalwart Perfect Strangers.

When I first heard about what was happening, I felt bad to see all these articles identifying Lori Laughlin as that actress from Full House. And columns that go in-depth on how Aunt Becky dealt with this exact peer pressure on the show.

I might be tempted to pay off a college, too, so my kid would be on a better career path than being connected to a part on a sitcom 25 years after it went off the air.

It feels weird to know I scored higher on the SAT than Lori Laughlin’s daughter.

I don’t think my parents bribed Ball State to get me in. If they had, I’d like to think they would have bribed, maybe, a Big Ten school.

I’m not above paying for access to smarty pants-es, though. When my annual dues came up for Mensa this year, I saw the rate for lifetime membership had come down.

I cut them a substantial check so I wouldn’t have to keep paying “annual dues.” In return for the check, they sent me a pledge pin.

Thanks to those teachers, I learned cheating is wrong. Now, I’ve grown up to be a professional instigator, and I did it without having to pay off the admissions department at Ball State.

That same English teacher had us stage a trial for Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment to see if we’d reach the same conclusion.

We had students set up as prosecutors, his defense team, a judge and jury. I was assigned to the jury, but I declared, quite reasonably, “Wait! We need a bailiff!”

“Fine, Alan, you can be the bailiff,” she responded, rolling her eyes. And we had order in the court.