And they are always newbies. Kids, stick around a while and you’ll see that you really don’t want our help, any more than you want help from those wiseasses in your dorm* who really don’t like you. We neither know nor dislike you, yet, but you are fresh meat, an innocent, trusting lamb walking blissful into the abattoir. Good luck with that.
- George said, “You guys are English majors. My prof wants an interpretation of ‘Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands.’”
Happy to help, asshole!
He got an F. We were, unhelpfully but thoroughly**, diametrically opposite of his prof, though she was totally wrong, too. (We went with the Virgin Mary because George was Jewish and wouldn’t know better. She went with a prostitute.) With English at college levels you get as many opinions as participants and only one is right, mine. However, my personal interpretation that it is was about Joan Baez has been countered with Dylan’s first wife and I stopped caring in '73.
** We worked harder to fuck him over than we typically did on our own homework. We could support our thesis, though we knew it was wrong. We typed it and everything. He didn’t know what hit him.