Literature Class: An Exercise in Suckish
Yes, it’s true. Literature class is suckish, very muchly so too. I hate it. (I’ve probably said it before, but I’ll tell you again)
It’s not the reading I hate, of course. What were you thinking, you sick person? It’s the analyzing every which way, blah blah.
So today Ihad to read the story “Papa’s Parrot” and answer some questions. Questions 1 through 8, to be exact. So I was thinking, “Easy, easy, easy, easy, easy, easy, easy, ooh, what’s this?” The question was “What can you learn from Harry’s experiences?”
I wrote From Harry’s experiences, I learned and then stopped. Why? Because I was trying not to be honest and say “From Harry’s experiences, I learned absolutely nothing! Hello, waste of time!”
I mean, REALLY. Harry’s experiences were: not visiting his dad’s store, and being asked “Where’s Harry?” by a parrot. No big life lessons there. Maybe I should’ve written “From Harry’s experiences, I learned that lit. class sucks! Oh wait, I already knew that.”
