Published: Monday, September 28, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

So I was doing homework that was probably due a week ago or something when I suddenly started having a conversation with myself.

“Self,” I said, correctly referring to myself in the second person, “you have no reason to do this homework. You should be owning video games or spending ridiculous amounts of money on eBay right now.”

I had no comeback for this. As is often the case when I find myself losing an argument, I turned some death-metal-screamo up to 11 and began quoting Muhammad Ali at the top of my lungs.

The truth is, students don’t really have any motivation to actually do homework. I mean, sure, a professor can give you a “bad grade,” but what is that really? Just like all that general education homework back in high school, are grades really going to affect your life that much? Your adviser will probably prattle on about “jobs” or some ridiculous bunk like that, but the truth of the matter is he or she is just telling you that because she or he doesn’t have the power to use more persuasive forms of persuasion.
In a rare burst of generosity, I’m going to offer the faculty of this fine university a way out of this predicament. I can sum it up in one word:
Bricks.

That’s right. Bricks. Not only are bricks heavy and brutally painful when thrown at high velocity, they also share the first three letters with the word “brilliant.” Which is what they are: pure brilliance.

Think about it, professors. Sure, you could make that rebellious freshman rewrite his paper, but is that really going to drive home the important point you’re trying to make about life and how awesome it is to be in a position of power? No. The sad truth is, it will not. So, if merely making him rewrite that paper won’t do it, perhaps making him rewrite the paper while you chuck bricks in his general direction will, eh?

Yeah, you know I’m on to something. Picture the scene. You, standing in front of the class, just waiting for someone to make your day and fall asleep in the back row. Your TA bowing and scraping as she drags in another cart of ammunition harvested from the crumbling walls of Warren Hall. Every student paying you absolute attention, hanging on your every word, knowing that if they cannot instantly repeat your last three sentences verbatim upon request, they’ll be getting a face-full of quarry fruit.

Now, I know there will probably be some who will object to this new plan. I suspect, however, that the solution to that lies once more in the liberal application of fire-hardened cubic chunks of sandstone.

Extrapolating upon this theory, one could easily imagine other scenarios where this genius plan might prove useful. With a little imagination, one could envision a world without need of roommate agreements (thud!), hall bathrooms where no one dares to leave food in the garbage can (smack!), peaceful libraries where talking loudly is spoken of only in hushed whispers (crash!), road trips where that one guy with all the long, annoying stories you’ve heard a thousand times already doesn’t say a single word for the duration of the trip (crunch!), and the list goes on.

Of course, I now realize that bricks are also a pretty good way to talk yourself into the job of your dreams (bam!). Which, sadly, shoots the foot straight off of my idea for encouraging students to get better grades.

“Self, you’ve done it again. You’ve gone and talked yourself straight out of genius.”
Oh, well. Time to crank the death metal.

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!
(smash!)