WOTS: CONFESS, PROFESSOR

by Amie Steir "I won't let my little ducklings make a bad investment?little ducklings will eventually become big ducks like me" and so on. Faces beaming and intent smile up at this demi-God, the placards in front of them proudly emblazoned with their names. What's up with the remedial flash cards anyway, we don't have those in the College. He talks of his deals: a million here, a hundred thousand there, and yet he still has time for his ducklings. What an amazing man. The smell of bullshit wafts through the halls of the brick microcosm that is Steinberg Dietrich. Yoda in pinstripes is making a point, and looking around he spots a name card, and says the person's name to illustrate some benign point; "Obviously our Mr. Baer would not make such a foolhardy investment choice," he says with a wink of pure sage. Poor Mr. Baer looks ready to faint in orgasmic ass-kissing ecstasy. Every class we are reminded by our royal paunchiness, that we are the cr_me de la cr_me, the best and the brightest. Being in the College, I'm not quite as creamy. But no matter, I sit watching, and taking notes. I take polls. How many times the professor says duck, goose, gosling or some other variation of fowl. How many times he tells us how much money he has, and how many people laugh at his sexist (there's nothing wrong with being sexy) jokes. "We all know women are smarter," claims the duck with a sly grin. Roars of eager laughter greet each joke. Is that funny? Is the idea that women have an IQ particularly amusing? I guess if you don't think about it. I feel a slight itch at the sides of my mouth, I have to smile. After all, everyone else is. From deep inside come the first rumbles of laughter. HA-HAAA!!! He really is amazing, this duck, and I am getting quite an education. He is one hell of a business man, my professor. He sells himself with ease. And we've all been had.