I am not a lexicographer.
Why can I not be like the others – the Farmer Professors joyfully growing the stone pillars of new Universities, the Dancing Professors drafting dissertations daily with the quills of their feet, the simple and unconditional studiousness of Professor Puppies; oh and my Teacher Professors, how I long for Full Professorship like theirs – to hand down judgments and orders, to bask in respect, adoration, and credibility, to hold those epic Faculty Meetings at the Coliseum and play out the power struggles of my department to the riotous applause of Grad Student Professors!
One amazing Faculty Meeting I had Blobby copy down went as such:
Stubbler: Surely you do not mean to imply that our purpose at the University is to become oafish layabouts and leisure stalkers, Professor Barklebaum?
Barklebaum: Why, I have implied no such thing!
Stubbler: That is not what is said by your insistence on prematurely ending your office hours by thirty seconds every week!
Barklebaum: My word!
(Rapturous cheers.)
Huzzah!
I had always believed I was destined to be cheered for, not to be the one who does the cheering. Perhaps this is what reality is.
