When I was up at Western for my bachelor's degree (when someone says that it implies that they have more degrees beyond that one, and that's not true for me, but I get the benefit anyway) I took an Irish Literature class. I can sum up everything I want to say about this class in one sentence: Instead of reading actual Irish literature, like James Joyce or Yeats, we read Mauve Binchy. For those of you not familiar, my teacher had us read V.C. Andrews in lieu of Shakespeare.
As you might expect from a brain surgeon such as this, it soon seemed to me that she wasn't even reading our papers. Keep in mind this is a four-year accredited university (!) that I spent $30,000 bleeping dollars to attend ($30,000 looks roughly like this to a guy like me). So I decided to test her, and for my next paper I wrote like this for six pages:
It is now time for me to write an illustrious paper about a subject that I, heretofore, have not known too much about. It is now time for me to write a paper on the subject of what is commonly referred to as Irish literature. But not only am I talking about that subject in general, I am actually talking about a particular book in particular. I am but talking about a book written by uber-famous Irish author, Mauve Binchy. Now before I can talk about this there are a number of initial declarative statements that I must issue before continuing on in the current vein that I am now progessing through as I try to articulate the important issues that I shall opine upon. I am have had much to say about what subject I'm about to unfold upon in grand fashion with extra strength and personal power over under where I'm went. Beer was half off tomorrow, Irish wit goes forth banking full and brew was good when with the proper anecdote.
Yes, I produced a literal six pages of nothing, and what grade do you think I got? You got it, Click Here to See What Jason Got. No, not really, but it was either an A or a very high B. Not bad for babbling like a disconnected child. And of course I had to suck. I had conducted this great sting operation, I could go to the dean of the school and expose the lazy lit teacher for the fraud that she was, but I think Miami Vice or Cops came on and after it was over I just rolled on my side, scratched some unmentionables, and never thought about the whole thing again.
I hate sucking. That might have been my big break; maybe it could have landed me an interview on Hannity & Combs or something ("Student takes down Marxist-Leninist Professor establishment with one on-purpose-crappy essay"). Yeah, maybe, but more likely it would have been a large nothing. The dean would have said, "Oh, thank you, we're going to get on this right away," and then she would have roasted the essay over the spit they provided her after completing six months of successful deanship.