Taming of the Student

Homework is evil. Now before you go figuring that I've adopted a typical six year old attitude towards school and cootie covered boys, I shall explain my stand. Oh, and I'm reeeaaally trying to keep this short, but I do tend to babble.
So it's like this see... homework was created by the man... the man man, baby, yeah... ahem. Sorry about that. But it's still true nevertheless. Who is this 'man'? The 'man' is your boss, or at least will be. Say, for example, that a group of friends is all hanging out together, perhaps partaking in amusing activities that they have planned for the evening. They call you on the telly and question as to if you will be gifting them with your presence, when you reply, as sad as possible, that no, in fact you have been called away on more pressing matters. These matters include a thrilling action-packed essay on the enlightenment and dialectical analysis of such works of Freud, Neitzsche, Goldman, and other easy to understand authors. Ah yes, now that underlying tone of sarcasm that continually pervades my thoughts and blogs has become apparent.
To begin, these authors are dry, dull, and tend to make up words like 'historiticize' and 'antidisestablishmentarianism'. No one really knows what these words mean, in fact there are more papers and essays discussing another dry and dull author's interpretation of their meaning.
But onwards we go. So as all of your friends are going out, partying, having fun, and most likely developing the stories that will become tales of fable at the next coffee-time gathering. You, of course, are noticeably absent from these ancetdotes. And what do you have to show for it? Five pages of nonsense. Seeing as how nothing is really real according to the great thinkers, you are analyzing nothing about nothing. This stands to provide you with that warm and fuzzy feeling, carrying you through the day, high on a sense of well-being and pride. You do realize that if everything blew up tomorrow and stuggling to survive, the only value of that stupid paper would be for warmth. That's it, fuel for a fire.
Now how does this tie into the 'man'? Well, for the low, low price of six odd some thousand dollars a year, you too can attend a university or post-secondary place of education and trade in your hard earned dollars for letters, between eight and twelve of the things. All in all, you pay a little more than five hundred dollars per letter, the kind of cash that wheel-of-fortune could make a killing off of. Now you have become firmly attatched to the belief that the letters hold some kind of magical power for the future, but you're starting to miss the cow that you traded, and the beans aren't looking so good.
But cast aside your doubt, you realize that in exchange for giving up a social life and much moola, you too can prepare for your future. Soon, if not already, you'll log online seconds after your marks are posted, hoping to beat out the 'evil competition' to the point where you will do everything in your power to see that you beat them.
And the 'man'? Well, now you have no social life and are willing to dedicate hours of hard work, both to pay for school as well as all the time dedicated to homework. Who could be a better employee than the coffee-crazed, competitive freak of nature that you have become, or better yet the psycho-offspring you will spawn, devoted to school and work, hoping to achieve the same or greater success of dear old Mom and Dad. Ah yes, the cycle is complete.
What does this mean for you? Nothing really. You're probably already screwed. I know I am. But hey, not like I have anything better to do than sit in front of a computer typing about Medieval thought and philosophy.
Ba doom boom chi...