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October 9, 2006

Frankly, I’m Baffled by Your Expectations of Competency

A Guest Editorial By Owen Burlington

The Ohio State University, Class of ‘08

Listen, Professor Isaacs. I realize you have a PhD in literature and stuff, and it’s probably from some really good school with a crucial reputation. I also appreciate the fact that you get something published like, every four nanoseconds. All good man, all good. But your expectations of competency in this lit class are just, like, fucking ridiculous for someone with my social obligations.

Let’s start with the basics: fifty pages of reading a week? And then a quiz on that shit? Langston Hughes seems like a pretty cool dude, but I don’t know why I need to read six of his poems. I mean, I Googled him before class this morning—and I dig that mustachio of his, very hip—but he uses the word ‘negro’ a lot. And I ain’t down with that. I don’t know what kind of whack, reverse-racist agenda my man had, but count this white boy out.

Besides, I can’t be the only one blowing off these readings. It’s really hard taking five courses when you hate reading as much as I do. Hell, I didn’t even read that letter my grandfather wrote me before he died. I got about nine lines into it and then…BOR-ING. For every sentence I read, bro, I miss out on precious, precious mackage. And that Sarah Weaver girl across the hall—I needs to get wit’ dat.

Which brings me to my last paper: it was an admirable two pages. I know you asked for five, but I thought you’d appreciate my brevity—in fact, I wrote the whole thing with you in mind. I see those stacks of essays in your office. I see that solitary desk light shining from your window long after dinnertime. So there’s no need to write shit like “this is the most banal, cursory attempt at college-level analysis I’ve read all semester, and doesn’t deserve a grade.” Ouch, bro. Ouch.

I’m glad we had this chat. I feel a lot better. If you can lower your expectations, and understand that I’m gonna be late most mornings, we should be fine. Which reminds me—I gots to jet. Today is chipped beef day in the cafeteria, and that shit be like, my dream deferred.

What a dumb ass.
It's satire, you nimrod! Read the fine print.
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