I wish it wasn't a joke, but it is. We do poem after poem after poem. It's been half of the fucking semester. No short stories, no writing skills. I haven't learned a damned thing.
I don't mind poetry. In small doses. When I write it of free will. When I don't do it for ten fucking weeks in a row. I loathe the way she teaches the class. Actually, I loathe everything that I know about her. She teaches AP Lang and yet I manage to catch errors in handouts. She has quoted herself on a handout before. She capitalizes things incorrectly/unnecessarily.
Permalink Reply by Dual on October 20, 2010 at 1:27pm
The only non poetry activity we've done in the past nine weeks (or whatever) was watch these horror short movies. In japanese. Made back when our parents were going through puberty. That made no fucking sense whatsoever (One of them was about a samurai who attacked a ghost who was in his cup of tea who then came back to haunt him only to be cut by the man's sword, after which the spirit sent his three ghost buddies after the samurai who weren't cut by the samurais sword...for some reason. Then the man gets stuck in a giant cup of tea. No, I am not making this shit up.) Because one of the girls, who isn't even in our fuckin' class, is writing a horror story.
Why can't a class that should be pwnsome be taught by a competent teacher who understands why people take the class in the first place? Whyyyyy
My school offers a poetry class. My CW teacher doesn't teach it. WHY THE FUCK NOT?
Permalink Reply by Dual on October 20, 2010 at 1:42pm
Another story is about a samurai (Noticing a trend, here?) who divorces his wife because he wants to be rich and powerful so he goes off to marry some powerful woman who he doesn't love. Normal enough, I suppose. He then changes his mind (Through the powah of LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE) and goes back to find his wife. He finds her and they live happily ever after.
That's when shit gets weird.
He wakes up to find that she's just a skull, hair and clothing. And he's an old man. Somehow. Despite him being a relatively attractive guy in the previous scene, between which maybe ten hours passed.
Then he gets attacked by his furniture. Or something.