One of my favorite stories I heard from a professor interviewing me for a grad school. When he heard that I had worked with a plant pathologist he told me that his wife was a plant pathologist and then he told me about some of her graduate work. It was with soybeans, I think, and a specific protein or something in them that causes flatulence. So basically the research group was working on amping up or knocking down this protein and then observing the effect on flatulence. So basically they had volunteers and grad students eat the beans and then somehow or another measured the power of their farts. He didn’t really go into detail about how they measured he farts but it had something to do with plastic bags. Yes, I got to laugh about farts in an interview for graduate school.
I was about to get lunch when she cuddled up to m. I’m going hungry.
At Stanford there was this Professor who was a total bitch and she taught British Literature, which was cool. Except she taught only her opinions of the books and it didn’t help me as a writer. I went to school to learn new things to improve my craft, not have someone else’s opinions carved onto my forehead.
So anyway, for our final project, she asked us to write a ten page paper on why the color symbolism in Othello was so significant. I did some research and it turned out that she did her entire graduate thesis on this very subject. I was mad. This wasn’t teaching, this was boosting her ego. SO I wrote a ten page essay on why color symbolism in Othello wasn’t significant, satirizing it to the point of no return, saying that her opinion was an opinion and shouldn’t be taken seriously.
SHe failed me, needless to say. So in retaliation, I responded by baking a batch of brownies laced with weed and laxatives and delivered them myself to the professor hours before her big graduation speech. I told her that it was a peace offering, my way of apologizing and asking if I could do anything to fix my grade.
She refused to fix my grade.
In the end, she shit herself on stage.
I didn’t regret it.
A few weeks ago Cicero buried herself in a pillow fort and when I tried to enter she kicked me out.