Intellectual Sodomy

The seminar room is a touch too cold. The walls are a staid shade of yello, and the air vaguely smells of paint.  The square glass paned windows look onto the hustle and bustle of downtown Brooklyn, and a dreary constipated sky reluctantly let's forth a few loose flakes. 

The twelve ergonomic swivel chairs around the hip silver hued seminar table are filled this afternoon with gales of hot air. Robbie marvels how the group manages to stay moored to the ground.

“The problem, I think, is a problem of problems," Marta is puffing, her huge hipster glasses fogging up.

“What I mean is, the reductionist vision of revisionist history is tautologically inconstant with the practices set forth by our grandparents."

Lyons bobs his nappy head up and down as though he's understood, and wipes his runny nose .

“Marta, that's a  very diplomatic way of putting it. I earnestly think that we ascribe to a value system that is paradoxically both irreverent and sacred. It is PERFECTLY out of time with our ancestors."

Diana's eyes flash wildly as she takes in Lyons' analysis, alternating her facial expressions between  smiles of condescending altruism, and frowns of dignified disdain.

“Your analysis is specious at best. Do you mean to suggest that these effigies that have so enthralled the American psyche is discursively irrelevant?"

Rochelle, Lyons' girlfriend does not even hide her annoyance and rolled her eyes.

“Once again, you've completely bludgeoned someone's argument," she begins, but Diana cuts her off with a look of scorn so venomous  that Professor Hawthorne decides to take a moment to reel in the class.

“What do you make of the banality of frivolity," he inquires groggily. He has just received his monthly vat of codeine from his doctor, a prescription for wisdom teeth that are constantly being removed.

“Phenotypically, I think that derision has acquired an almost plebian place that has thereby constituted a sort of cultural sodomy, if you will," slobbers Ashley. She manages to keep her hands flying over the keyboard of her blackberry without looking. 

Damon ponderously throws a hand in the air that comes perilously close to knocking Ashely out of her seat and onto the floor. 

"I think we're perilously close to erecting an endogenous androgyny that is paradigmatic, and, I might add, synecdochic of the generational struggles that existed both in the 14th century, and that, in essence, still exists today?"

He utters this string of words in such a flurry, that he has forgotten to breathe. 

Jenny capitalizes on on Damon's deep inhale. 

"Essence in the soul. Character that astounds us. Thus, we pawn the porn." 

Haikus are Jenny's strong suit. 

Beatrice and Sandra, lovers from Wisconsin, begin completing each other's sentences. 

"So, we're walloped in the depth," belts Beatrice.

"The depth of our debt,"sighs Sandra.

They looked at each other and teehee. They are still in the honeymoon stage.

Robbie stares across the table at Kevin who is snoring peacefully. Here is a man Robbie can respect.

Turning his attention to the rest of the class, he stares on blankly as someone blabbers nothing about nothing. This is the $8000-a-credit course he is taking at the University. The theater of intellectualism in front of him is confounding.