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UProf Says to Go into Student Debt Up to Your Eyeballs!

May 5, 2013

I don’t advise anymore. When I first started teaching and thought that I could make a difference in the world, I advised. It was an easy way to NOT teach three hours per week. If one advised he was relieved of teaching one class.

Not now. I won’t advise a student to do anything. In today’s litigious society, it’s a major risk to advise a student to open his umbrella in bad weather because if the nitwit gouges himself or rips out an eye in the process, the advisor may be tied up in court forever. We have better lawyers representing the universities now, but they’re just paper pushers who continue to delay court hearings until the student is old enough to apply for medicare and has long forgotten what his bitch was all about by the time his case comes to court. The truth is that if a student  hires a lawyer who really wants to tan someone’s hide, he can do it. Why?

It isn’t because the legal system favors the students. It’s because the profession hires idiots to teach who seem not to realize that they can be held liable for what they say and do. Another reason is that students are much more savvy today than they were thirty years ago. Going to court and suing a professor for mental anguish is easier than actually going to school and then actually holding a job. The odds of a favorable payoff are much better.

I must admit that I made a mistake last week and inadvertently advised a student. If it goes to court, I’ll claim that it was a set-up. I can’t believe that I could be so stupid. Worse, I can’t believe that I could be so brilliant in my waning years.

I was walking to the teachers’ cafeteria with a student to get some coffee. (The lackey in the department has more important things to do than make coffee, even though that is her main responsibility. She’d rather put on makeup than make coffee).

“If you had it to do all over what would you do?”

It’s really a pretty good question. I appreciate students who ask ME what I would do. Unfortunately, it could be construed as advice in a court of law should something go wrong.

— Given today’s circumstances, I’d apply to the top twenty universities in the country, then borrow a half a million dollars to become a constitutional lawyer.

“Why, Prof? Do you like law?”

—– I don’t give a flip about law. Law pays. Medicine pays. It doesn’t matter the area of study. What matters is that soon, those who got in debt over their heads will get bailed out. Things have changed a bit since I was your age. Hard work and brains don’t count as much as the socioeconomic in which one is spawned. In fact, intelligence and ability has almost nothing to do with success in life. If your father is rich and got around, and your mother slept around and made connections, you’re guaranteed acceptance to the Country Club of Life. See, you cannot climb up the Ladder of Life higher than your parents did. It’s that simple. You were lied to when you were a kid and you drank the Kool Aid. What works now is BUYING your way into the good life.

“But my Dad is a janitor. ”

— Screw it. You have brains. Apply to the best grad schools you think you can get into, then borrow enough cash to gag a whale. You won’t have to pay it back, because the government will bail you out. You’ll have a degree that will gain you entry into the Country Club of Life.

“I’m not so sure that just attending good schools will—”

— Have you heard of George W. Bush?

“Yes.”

—No one, not even he can account for his time at Yale and Harvard. Only the family accountant can. He’s got the tuition receipts. And the liquor stores have the purchase receipts.

“Are there more like him in the government?”

—- Everywhere. Dick Cheney didn’t even finish college at Yale. He went back home to Wyoming and allegedly earned a B.A and an M.A. in political science, the majors of psychopaths.

I could tell that I had thoroughly depressed this poor kid. He thought that being an English major would open doors for others, if not for himself.

— Duuuuude, I told him, if writing and communicating is your thing, spend Saturday nights writing sermons that will convince the masses to give you ten percent of their income every week. That’s where it’s at. Forget Jane Austen, Emily Bronte, and Emily Dickinson. Their writing is affected and boring. Your Dad is a janitor. Go borrow cash so that you can buy a license to print your own money. Why pay for an education at this crummy school when you can buy your way into the Good Life on someone else’s credit?

That’s what I told him. I shouldn’t be such a wimp. I should charge for this advice.

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