Yeah, I'm an English major. Oh, good one. A book snob joke. Does your deadbeat auto mechanic uncle write all your jokes for you? Haha, a crack about my outfit. Yeah, so I'm wearing a turtleneck sweater and drinking tea. LOTS OF PEOPLE WEAR THIS. IT'S CALLED HAVING DIGNITY, ASS.
Oh yeah, Mr. Civil Engineering Major? Oh, look at me, I design roads and such. I got news for you, man. You can't build roads, man. You gotta make your own roads in life... metaphorically! You know, go where there is no road and make a trail and stuff. You'd know this if you studied Emerson as much as I have.
Don't you laugh either, Mr. Pre-Med hotshot. How about you keep objectifying the human body some more? Don't you see? The human body is an artwork, man. It's not a bunch of veins and arteries that can be manipulated for ""science.""
You sicken me with your ""research"" and ""lifesaving."" If anything, you're saving lives but taking souls. And us English majors know that souls are the only part of the body that matters. Well, that and genitalia. What else are feminist poets going to write metaphorically about?
Not a real major, eh? Liberal Arts is a joke, huh? WE'RE EVALUATING AND APPLYING SOCIAL COMMENTARY. DOES THIS MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?! I AM JUDGING YOU RIGHT NOW, AND YOU SMELL LIKE THAT SO-CALLED ""APPLICABLE KNOWLEDGE"" I KEEP HEARING SO MUCH ABOUT. AS SOME FRENCH POET YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF ONCE SAID, ""LE E'TAT F'NIE MONFRIER."" TRANSLATION: EAT A DICK.
I'VE READ TEN NOVELS THIS SEMESTER, PAL! THAT'S PROBABLY MORE THAN YOU'VE READ IN YOUR LIFE. AND NO, ""WOMEN PEELING AND EATING BANANAS MAGAZINE"" DOES NOT COUNT AS A BOOK. MY FINAL EXAM WAS A TAKE-HOME ESSAY, WHICH WAS WAY HARDER THAN YOUR ORGANIC CHEMISTRY OR ZOOLOGY EXAM. OH, LOOK AT THE PANDA! IT HAS HOOVES OR SOME SHIT! I WANNA BE A MARINE BIOLOGIST AND TOUCH WHALES FOR A LIVING!
Oh, I won't get a REAL job in this world? That's because I don't buy into your capitalistic ideals of ""jobs"" and ""employment"" and ""showering daily."" As Melville's Bartleby the Scrivener once said, ""I'd prefer not"" to do any job the capitalistic pigs have created to control brilliant creative minds such as my own.
No, I belong somewhere important, judging famous watercolor paintings or editing a magazine dedicated to haiku about avante garde existentialism. I'll leave the gas pump to you, sir.
What's that? My English major is a waste of thousands of dollars? Ha! That's like telling Thoreau his night in jail wasn't worth the time! YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND MY GENIUS. I WRITE POETRY ABOUT GENITALIA, BUT YOU WOULDN'T REALIZE IT BECAUSE I USE METAPHORS, ONOMATOPOEIA AND OTHER LITERARY DEVICES TO HIDE THE SEXUAL REFERENCES.
DID SHAKESPEARE EVER WORK THE MCDONALD'S WALK-UP AT THREE IN THE MORNING TO PAY FOR HIS BUDDING THEATRE GROUP? DID KURT VONNEGUT DRAW PENISES ON ALL OF THE PICTURES IN HIS HISTORY TEXTBOOK BEFORE WRITING ""SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVE""? DID EMILY DICKINSON OR SYLVIA PLATH PUT OUT IN HIGH SCHOOL? THESE ARE THE THINGS WE SHOULD BE ASKING OURSELVES, PEOPLE!
(A brief struggle, Jon gets put in handcuffs by policeman).
Wait, why are you arresting me? Oh, I get it. It's because I'm completely naked in public. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU SIMPLETONS? DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND MY VISION? DON'T YOU GET THE SOCIAL COMMENTARY? I'M LASHING OUT AT THE CONFORMIST RITUAL OF ""CLOTHING"" THAT ALL OF YOU PRE-MEDS, ENGINEERS AND MATHEMATICIANS SEEM SO CRAZY ABOUT. I AM IBSEN'S MAN AGAINST SOCIETY. I AM THOREAU'S CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE! I AM EMERSON'S SELF RELIANCE! I AM... BEING BEATEN UNCONSCIOUS BY THESE BILLY CLUBS! IF THIS ISN'T A METAPHOR FOR THE ESTABLISHMENT'S OPPRESSION PLACED ON ITS OWN PEOPLE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS!
(Jon passes out after repeated blows to the head from Madison Police Officers to get him to shut up about writers who died hundreds of years ago who no one cares about.)
Would you like Jon to be more pretentious and snobby in his future columns? Neither would we. But send comments anyway to spike@wisc.edu
