I Throw Down the Glove
Topic Drift has been insufficiently intellectual lately, hasn't it? Experts will begin to expunge my name from their laminated toilet-wall lists of Public Intellectuals. Posner has already taken me off the master list. He notified me by way of lavender-scented form letter. Who is next? Cornel West? Will he turn his back on me as well? I haven't heard from old lady Nussbaum in years, and Allan Bloom returns all of my letters unopened. Bunch of phonies. I can see that all of my back-scratching efforts have been for naught. It's a one-way street; I scratch their backs, they offer me the cold shoulder. Well, fine. I have some superb ideas about toxicology, public transportation and nouveau monkey-dirtpit greenbean feminism that will blow the establishment out of the water. Good. We shall see who gets the last laugh. Yes, we shall see.
3 Comments:
Those bastards will get you. Just the other day Chomsky ran up and pants me. Right in front of Sontag, too.
Why I oughta- You can't see me, but I'm shaking my fist. It's a good thing Sontag's blind without her beer goggles. I've always thought Chomsky was a purebred asswipe, and now this. Would you believe he tried to marry my sister once? She was FOURTEEN and on crutches after her trigonometry accident. True story.
My dear Ms Wilberforce-P:
If you would be so kind as to remove the Llamas from your blogroll, I would condescend to move you back onto my To-be-attended-to List.
Crispyly,
Joyce Carol Oates
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