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Show Anting Alone Page 2oi more ass than any ten poems!" - almost driving their incisors through their thin lower lips, to make those R's hard, harder! And they have children. They have bewildered little children and frumped-out wives in yoga classes just across the campus, and they don't care, these professorial types. And they always pester you to secure cocaine for them. But they will pay top dollar for pure mannitol or malt sugar or baby laxative, and come back next day pretending to be all fucked out - "Man! What wild shit that was!" Yes, professorial types, who are failed writers, who are bursting with impulses of flouted creativity and exhibitionism and pansexuality, who try to make each lecture a "work-of art" - who fling themselves around the room, making their voices go loud, then soft, trying to convince themselves that their students are transfixed on the edges of their chairs with the sheer drama of it all, instead of just deeply, terribly embarrassed for the aging clown who grovels at their feet for high evaluation scores. Professorial types, who make you want to commit suicide, or even stop writing, just by looking at you over the top rims of their glasses; whose private faculty parties you attend uninvited with your sickest pals just so you can drink everything in sight and vomit on their carpets and children and piss all over their extra rolls of Charmin on the back of the John - Professor B, moreover, was into film as a viable art form. He called Professor A's Volvo the "Bergmanmobile." Professor C had something about him that made Sam reluctant to get into the same Volvo with him. Sam-was not famous for over-fastidiousness - yet even he shied away from spending any length of time at close quarters with Professor C, his third inquisitor. |