Counter-point-counter:

This week: Jennifer Lichner, English Grammar Student, vs. Meleena Beer, English Grammar Instructor.

I So Don't Need Grammar Instruction

By Jennifer Lichner

Oh my God, I cannot be-lieve this instructor of mine. I mean, when midterms came up and I saw her name, I'm like, "You're not even the real teacher. That creepy tall guy in the back probably is." And she is so impossible.

Not only are we supposed to memorize all these parts of speech, but we've got to know, like, clauses and participles too. I mean, who cares if it's "I wish I was a millionaire" or "I wish I were a millionaire"? Somebody's really going to ask me that in a job interview, I am so sure.

Besides, we covered the rest of this junk in high school! Why do we have to go over it again? It's just busywork. I am so disillusioned with higher education right now.

Look, it goes like this. We get weekly quizzes, lectures, and three exams. And all we have to go on is the book and our class. How am I supposed to write down everything that's said in a class that's over an hour long? If it were about poetry or something I might be able to pay attention, but she and that Christopher Walken-guy are in Grammarland if they think this is interesting stuff.

Hear that? That's the sound of my notebook bursting apart at the seams because of all the notes I have to cram into it. That's also the sound of me slamming the phone down in disgust because I had a fight with Jake--he wants me to come over and watch Zoolander but I've got to study for this stupid exam instead. Thanks a lot, Melina. You're ruining my life.

P.S. Your hair is stupid.

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Somebody get me a fucking drink

By Meleena Beer

Holy God, we're in Clueless! Change the channel, quick!

The problem with this stupid bitch is she's still looking for the handout she's been getting all along from Mommy and Daddy. Newsflash, Ms. Edison: You can't bribe your brain with another six months' car insurance and a cell phone. You've got to study, and in case they forgot to cover this in the John Hughes/WB hybrid of a high school you undoubtedly attended, studying does not mean doodling Hello Kitty and band insignias in the margins of your notebook while blasting Creed with the bass jacked up.

What's the difference between "was" and "were"? About $50,000 a year, if your corporate boss uses the tense correctly and you don't. It's called the conditional, you stupid cow.

Jesus Fucking Christ, I need a drink. If you went over all of this in high school, Barbie, you wouldn't be in my class right now, chewing your hair and drawing heart symbols on your goddamned knee. Pop quiz: How many nouns are there in the sentence "Who, me?" Holy God, she's actually counting on her fingers.

Hear that? That's the sound of my patience not just wearing thin but bursting apart at the seams. I promise not to grade your exams with any editorial comments--if I did, I'd probably get fucking fired--but if you ever want an opinion, you can bet the ten cans of hairspray you dump into that poif of yours that I think you're a leech on our fair campus, deliberately siphoning off part of the state's educational financial budget towards an oh-so-fucking-promising future in waitressing or professional suntanner on your parents' porch. And my hair is not stupid--you're just a goddamned moron.

Fuck me, who needs a drink?

With apologies to The Onion