Well, Fuck Me with a Fork

Actually, don’t.

But guess who is in my Major American Writers class next term, the class I was looking forward to quite a bit, despite my tendency to shy away from exclusively “American” topics in literature? The Thorn’s very own George Dawkins. In fact, there are too many people in that class I know. And some of them are actually somewhat literary-minded, which means my ideas (such as they are) will sound even more like shit, which means I can plan on being quiet and simply absorbing for probably most of the quarter. It’s twelfth grade English all over again. There will be those three or four people who bunt around ideas while the rest of us sit in silence and nod at convenient times, because to speak up is to invite ridicule or derision or complaints about the low level of the class discussion.

Le sigh (isn’t butchering French fun?). I suppose I should reserve judgement until I’m actually in the class, huh? As long as I can get a front row seat, I’m good.