My sister-in-law...let's say her name rhymes with [stricken from the record], is currently working on her Doctorate in Applied Theoretical Rocket Surgery, and is required to take a certain class for the curriculum. This class is being "taught" by an instructor who apparently believes that the only way to learn something is to be forced to inundate oneself in every conceivable nuance of the material from every perspective imaginable for 23 hours and 59 minutes of every day, neglecting one's kids and food and water and everything else just to write yet another essay on who oughtta play Rosencrantz and who oughtta play Guildenstern if good ol' Willie Shagspeak's play about the Danish Prince was to get itself made into yet another movie.
My advice to you, so-called "teacher" at Harvard-On-The-Highway...try another method. If you can't find a way to generate a little enthusiasm for one of the greatest pieces of literature ever written, without resorting to total immersion, then perhaps the failing is yours. Give 'em a break, you bitch.
Get thee to my turd-flush!
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