Academia: the Last Refuge of the Coward

(Setting: An idyllic glade. LECTURER sits in the clearing, alternatively scribbling furiously with a quill on parchment and gazing thoughtfully into the distance. TA enters, dancing in a manner to indicate sorrow. LECTURER and TA make eye contact. A tableau indicating tension)

TA: The students.

LECTURER: Fail them.

TA: I have grown to love their perversions.

LECTURER: Fail them.

TA: They think of me as their drunken sibling.

LECTURER: Set fire to them, THEN fail them.

TA: Have you lost your heart? Has your soul become reams of paper?

LECTURER: You're such a pussy. They're using you.

TA: . . .

LECTURER: How many As have you given out?

TA: Fuck, you're right. Should I not have prioritized teaching concerns over my own academic issues?

LECTURER: You DID that? You are SO fucked.

TA: *sobbing*

LECTURER: Aw, it's all right. I know your advisor. Come, we shall make merry and discover that Marx was not a Marxist.

TA: MustI fail them?

LECTURER: You may give them Ds.

(General merriment. TA and LECTURER exit, hand in hand, skipping. STUDENTS set fire to stage, oblivious of both the prancing couple and their own complete disregard for course requirements.)

FIN