^~~Let Me Spit Out My Bitterness...^~~

      After marking about four dozen essays, I want to aver this: the next time an undergraduate writes about love-- "true love" or "idealized love" or whatever-- I will force said student to ingest heavy does of oven cleaner before he or she is ceremonially bled and then fed to a cete of agitated badgers, adorned with chicken-bones for earrings and swaddled in any and all available forms of human waste. Oh, if it weren't thoroughly unprofessional, I'd share with you, my patient readers, material evidence that would certainly legitimate my current vitriolic state. Alas, the atrocities that are perpetuated on thought and language in the name of 'love...' Poor, poor "love," assaulted and tattered, left almost moribund by those that constantly and carelessly inflict themselves upon you, as a word and as an idea, let alone anything else, you deserve a better fate than you seem destined to receive....