Perpetuatin' the Cycle

I thought I had signed up for American Authors since 1875. Apparently, the English Department was serious about the proposed budget cuts because it didn't have enough money to properly label its own classes. Someone in marketing was forced to omit the word African (Not this African, but this African) from the class title, and someone with a sense of humor just let all of us white folk sign up for it.

I should have used my keen sense of self-righteousness to avoid the trap I fell into...

1. My professor's name is Lamar Garnes. His teaching assistant is a basketball.

2. The required reading for the course:

I. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn 

      II. The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man 

    III. A Raisin in the Sun

     IV. Ebony (Issue 239-- features short fiction by Young Buck)

What the fuck is Deathly Hallow, niggah???

3. We have to read in front of the class. Bradley Goldstein, who rocks K-Swiss's and wears a turtleneck on Wednesdays, was not prepared to present a critical analysis on Tyler Perry's House of Payne.

I don't blame Lamar. I am sitting in his class right now. I just wish that his style of teaching was reaching its targeted audience. But Lawd knows those who could really benefit from this class are not waking up fo' no 9:00 AM class. You must be crazzzzzeeee.