I Hate University and Aspergers

Let me just say something. I hate being bored. I think that if you can't keep me interested in what you're saying, then what you're saying is valueless to me. In fact, I'm in the process of hating right now -- a massive raging hate that won't allow me to stand until I get it out. Instead of writing a paper on the "philosophy of the mind" I  am going to rebelliously sit here and pour out all my hate and frustration for this ridiculous subject. I simply cannot believe people dedicate their lives to the study of this abominably boring and pedantic subject.

Before I tell you what "philosophy of the mind" is I want you to imagine something. Relax. Close your eyes.

 A middle-aged man in a tweed suit is sitting at a desk in a cramped University office room. This room has a small window on one side, a bookshelf on the other and his desk on the last. His desk faces the wall, and on that wall lies a large semen stained poster of Immanuel Kant. Sitting on his desk, worn, and dog eared from near daily overuse, is his thesaurus, Encyclopedia Obscurica. On his bookshelf lie two books: a self-help book called "The Dangers of Being Interesting" and an instructional called "The Virtues of Pedantism". The air is humid and punjent; punjent, not just with the smell of mold, but also with his smug self-satisfaction and complete disdain for anything practical. Open his door after he's been in their a few hours without ventilation and the fumes are likely to cause hysterical obsessive compulsive disorder, a contagious disease with a large footprint in almost all Universities. Ask him anything and you will get a rhetorical question in response; that is, if your grammar is perfect, otherwise you will be ignored because he doesn't know who or what your pronouns are referring to. If you asked him, conversationally, who he would be if he could be anyone in the world, he would respond with: "how can I be sure I am anyone right now?" That, or simply "Spock." Yes, here lies this middle-aged man, and his name is Every-philosophy-professor-ever.

This is who I imagine writes the philosophy of the mind papers that are crammed down my throat three times a week. But, I suppose I am being unfair. I guess you could extend this illustration to encompass mostly any University professor, with a few tweaks here and there.  

I am tired of writing now.