Good news, fellas: the McGill shenanigans have been taken care of. I might be able to graduate on time, and all I had to do was prostate almost every professor in the English department. And then fill out many forms. And, perhaps, sacrifice the blood of a newborn on the eve of the first noon.
So, my relationship with my educational institution of choice has returned from "hate" to "ambivalence." Time to dose the flames on my McGill-wear bonfire.
Q: What does it take to set a pile of 80% cotton 20% polyester on fire?
A: Seething, burning hatred. Also, a match helps.
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