I think I just committed academic suicide. Who the hell turns in their final essay to a teacher who has twenty-four hours left to live? Me, that's who. My philosophy teacher needs her spine restructured. That woman is a fucking genius, and it might all end for her tomorrow.
And I have the gall to e-mail her some piece of crap speculation on Immanuel Kant's view of stem-cell research.
THIS IS THE WORST IDEA FOR ANY PAPER and I realize this AFTER I turn the paper in.
God.
Well, I suppose writing about John Stuart Mill in a clown/midget porno would be worse.
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Such angst delights the masses so. We pay far out our asses for a good dose of misery. Arsistotle always believed that the mean, the virtuous disdain for excess, is the good with the one exception of happiness. If there is happiness, there is no mean.
But we demand the maudlin, we need the poignant. We've done away with poise too. It's not x-treme.
And I have the gall to e-mail her some piece of crap speculation on Immanuel Kant's view of stem-cell research.
THIS IS THE WORST IDEA FOR ANY PAPER and I realize this AFTER I turn the paper in.
God.
Well, I suppose writing about John Stuart Mill in a clown/midget porno would be worse.
_______________________________________________
Such angst delights the masses so. We pay far out our asses for a good dose of misery. Arsistotle always believed that the mean, the virtuous disdain for excess, is the good with the one exception of happiness. If there is happiness, there is no mean.
But we demand the maudlin, we need the poignant. We've done away with poise too. It's not x-treme.
bitche$ get paid.
lalalove you.
call me sometime.