Ready . . . Aim . . . Confuse!

When we’re at our wits’ end and times are desperate, sometimes we have to resort to things we aren’t proud of. Right now, that’s where I’m at. I am seeking the last refuge of the academically fried—the old adage of “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.”

I’m so tired. I got sick in November, and have been playing catch-up ever since my partners in crime sprung me from my admittedly-comfortable cell. (I’ll admit to missing the adjustable bed, but the food is better on the outside.) By now, my brain is so much liquefied goo that I feel like I’ve turned into a three-year-old on a sugar high. Which, you know, fun, but not so helpful when you have to write your 900th essay which is due in six hours.

And honestly? I cannot bring myself to care (really, I can’t—it’s tragic). But I figure that if I spew enough academic language and cite some really top-notch research, I can probably convince Professor Dick to give me a decent grade before he realizes that I’ve just fired a flaming barrel of BS at his head.

I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

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