Ruthless Rhymes for Stupid Students, VIII
The discipline of English lit
is open to the meanest wit:
hardly rocket science, its creed
demands you simply learn to read.
Yet there they sit! my brightest class!
Mute, because they can't be arsed
to read the nifty books I set.
I push the button marked "Eject"
to launch them skywards through the roof,
and register my sharp reproof.
Heaped on the lawn, all bruised and bleeding,
bet they wish they'd done the reading.
Still no epiglotti. I'm too annoyed to think of rhymes.
(Edited after the fact to a slightly snappier version. The Eject button was in one of my earlier scribbled bits of paper, and I subsequently forgot about it.)
is open to the meanest wit:
hardly rocket science, its creed
demands you simply learn to read.
Yet there they sit! my brightest class!
Mute, because they can't be arsed
to read the nifty books I set.
I push the button marked "Eject"
to launch them skywards through the roof,
and register my sharp reproof.
Heaped on the lawn, all bruised and bleeding,
bet they wish they'd done the reading.
Still no epiglotti. I'm too annoyed to think of rhymes.
(Edited after the fact to a slightly snappier version. The Eject button was in one of my earlier scribbled bits of paper, and I subsequently forgot about it.)