Finnegans Wake Forest

Now Hireling Add-Junks!


Riverrun, past Eve and Angelou’s Residence Hall, from swerve of shore to bend of bay to Ray Liotta Reynolda Hall. Ah, but, and Finnegans Wake Forest University is now a hireling, specifically in the deportment of Really-juice Studies. Go down, Moises, go dawwn and te’ch a thing or two yon Jerkoff and Eatsoup in the Campus Kitchin. Look before you leak, dears. Wait! Chapel! Full tup of Demon Deacons, I mite say.

 

One great part of every human existence is passed in a state which cannot be rendered sensible by the use of wideawake language, cutanddry grammar and the o’eruse of Adjunct Professory-types. Loud, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with paychecks low! Here Comes Everybody.

 

The last batch? They lived and laughed and loved and left. Thayer families eat, shoes, and leaves. A joke about a panda and-orr murder, right their. And the propertee povertee of add-junk professors and professoras. So we need to hyre some fresh meet and greet.

 

It is their segnall for old tennysonured professorships to seek the shades of his retirement and for young add-junks to tear a round and tease their partners lovesoftfun at Finnegan’s Wake Forest Yewkneefurcity. And that will save us a shiteload of money and save us from the Trouble with Tribble Hall and all Trekking hitherto and hitherfrom the Romulans and Rehmoose.

 

Winston-Salem wins a ton, sailing – wince – tonsils phlegm after a pack ‘o spears, Winstons or Salems, cannot recall! the downtown the fairyest of theme all! and Farrellghy affordable for a pearson paid pick a pack of pumpkins seeds scratch chicken feed peanuts bupkus or two thowsand a class and no benefits.

 

So be ye inclined to also teech six sextions of Comp Lit to make ends meat, the sausage grinder, how the hot dogg is made. Helck! You could study Joys hisself and Where you could confound the confines of the classroom by extricating the exploitations of our eponymous textual advances.

 

Apple now, where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green.

 

 

Provolone,

H.C. Earwicker

 

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