My english professor is a crackhead.

I have no respect for her or how she runs her classroom. And I do believe she is very much aware of this fact. It definitely proves to be an interesting learning environment.

The course is Intermediate Writing, and it is an elective that not even English majors are required to take. So you’d think… being that she is an educated woman… that she would realize we are all there BY CHOICE. And that we don’t need some guilt trip assy-ass attempt to keep us serious about that class.

Alas. She attempts to keep the class in check by shhh-ing us. Yeah.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Is a very effective way to get your classroom full of 8 year olds to quiet down but come on, lady. I’m old enough to go out and drink you under the table.

She brings stuffed animals into class all of the time. I think she thinks it’s cute and hip. Today, for instance, she decided to have us do a free write about this ugly-as-sin turtle that her daughter slobbers all over (I know she slobbers all over it because she gave us vivid details…and then… yes… you guessed it! She passed the nasty baby-germ-infected thing around to the class so we could thoroughly examine it. Spread disease much?). Now she told us we could describe the retarded thing any way we wanted to. So I CANNOT get in trouble for this:

You know that face from the scary movies that stays in the back of your mind for weeks after you see it? With the big, bugged out eyes… that burn fear and angst into your soul?

Yep. This is what we are giving to your 8 month old.

There is a hole in its underbelly that you can pull a small, baby turtle out of after you rip its skin open, letting the red, bloody goo from its intestines ooze out with the creature, putting me in mind of that scene from Alien 3… yeah… you know the one I’m talking about.

It crinkles, rattles and squeaks… just like the sound effects from Children of the Corn and Pet Cemetery.
Those bright, neon colors burn your eyes like a fire and lead you to turn away in horror.

Children throw it around, chew on it, rip its skin apart… they look at the disfigured reflection in the mirror on its back and begin their long battle with self-esteem…

The symbol in the center of its shell marks, with no doubt, its allegiance to some secret, satanic cult, its extremities being pushed and pulled… beaten, squished and abused unmercifully…

And all the while it has a smile curved on its lips, haunting you with sick pleasure.

Don’t lie. You know you enjoyed it. And I think she will too.
I will be very surprised if I pass this course with anything higher than a C.