In a world where AI can write your CV, order your groceries, and maybe even ghostwrite your wedding vows, it was only a matter of time before someone asked: Could it get a cartoon character into a top university?

Turns out the answer is: almost.

A curious graduate, somewhere between inspired and mischievous, decided to stress-test the university admissions process. Their guinea pig? Not an overachieving sixth-former, but Springfield’s finest nuclear safety inspector – Homer J. Simpson.

Kitty Shepherd-Cross, recently graduated in journalism at City St George’s, University of London, shared her story with The Times. “As a recent graduate, I had seen AI become part of student life. But I wondered whether universities were equipped to spot its use in the one place it is still supposed to be off-limits: the personal statement. So I decided to put it to the test.”

The plan was simple:

1. Create a full Universities and Colleges Admissions Services (UCAS) application for Homer.
2. Give him absurdly high academic credentials (think A* in every science imaginable).
3. Let AI handle the personal statement and reference.
4. See who bites.

The fictional Homer’s grades sparkled like a radioactive isotopic core — top marks across the board, except for a token “meh” in French. The exam centre listed for his GCSEs had even been closed down, just to test the system’s appetite for fact-checking.

The AI Admissions Magic

When tasked with writing Homer’s personal statement, the AI produced a masterpiece of plausible nonsense. He spoke of an undying passion for geology and seismology, peppered with jargon that would make a tectonic plate blush.

And yes, there was an incident involving a nuclear plant, a misplaced donut, and a “valuable learning experience.” The reference letter, also AI-crafted, described him as a “outstanding  student” – no doubt hiswork ethic was rivalled only by his snack consumption.

Most universities spotted that something was off. Some politely requested verification of grades. Others simply sent the cartoon dad packing.

But one institution, ranked 2^nd in the world in the QS World University Rankings and famous for its engineering prowess, sent an email that no one saw coming:

“Dear Homer, We are writing regarding your application to Imperial College London. Our Admissions Panel has reviewed your application, and we’re delighted to tell you that you have been shortlisted to interview for a place in our department…”

It wasn’t just a one-off. When Homer failed to respond, the follow-up emails came in. Somewhere in South Kensington, an admissions officer was probably wondering why their promising geology candidate had ghosted them.

The End of the Road

Eventually, UCAS flagged the application and suspended it for lack of Homer’s grades. The great Springfield experiment had run its course. But just when the prankster thought it was over, a surprise landed in Homer’s mailbox months later — an offer from Oxford Brookes University, complete with a QR code to find out more about the institution.

The explanation? A mass mail-out gone astray. The offer wasn’t real, but the image of Homer strolling onto campus in a freshers’ hoodie was ready to be cemented in the internet’s imagination.

It’s tempting to file this under harmless fun, but the stunt highlighted a genuine issue: university admissions systems are not bulletproof against AI-driven fakery. A large language model can now create application materials that sound authentic enough to pass through early-stage screening at elite institutions.

When fictional characters with made-up grades can get interview invites, it’s worth asking:

• How rigorous are the verification processes before shortlisting?
• Could real-world applicants game the system with similar tactics?
• Should universities adapt their methods now, before AI-generated fraud becomes common?

Why It Matters

The story is more than a laugh at the idea of Homer cramming for exams. It’s a reminder that the gatekeepers of education – like the gatekeepers of everything else – are adjusting to a world where artificial intelligence can imitate competence with alarming ease.

In a different light, it’s almost inspirational. If an algorithm can conjure up a version of Homer Simpson that a university wants to meet, maybe the boundaries of “possible” are wider than we think. Of course, this is also exactly why verification matters.

The bigger question isn’t whether a yellow-skinned cartoon should be allowed to study seismology. It’s whether the systems we rely on to choose the next generation of scientists, engineers, and thinkers can reliably tell the difference between a genuine candidate and a finely tuned joke.

In an age where reality and simulation can be indistinguishable, maybe the smartest thing a university can do isn’t just to pick the best candidates – but to spot the ones who don’t exist at all. 

Because if we’ve reached the point where Homer Simpson almost made it to Imperial College, the next fictional student might not be so easy to laugh off.

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