I should no doubt have my English Major's License to Engage in Critical Exegesis revoked because, in preparation for my stated Year 2011 Goal of Reading ALL of Shakespeare's plays, I just checked the Riverside Shakespeare out of my library and I did that because I had to check it out and the reason for that is I couldn't find my own copy and it goes without saying (or, in this case, goes with saying) that when you've become such a Bad ex-English Major that you can't find your own Teh Compleat Shxpr text, well, then, your license to Get All Hermeneutical Up In Here is automatically revoked, or should be. Of course, my license won't be revoked because when you begin a blog post with a sentence like that previous one you just read, I think you've pretty much proved you're still douchebag enough to qualify as a fully-licensed Ex-English Major.
And anyway, it's not my fault that I can't find my Compleat Shxpr; I'm too much of a gentleman to say exactly whose fault it is, so I'll just give you a hint by saying I'm married to her and her first name is "Teh" and the rest of her name starts with an apostrophe, but after that, you'll get no more out of me as to her Secret Identity.
So, anyroad, Teh '[redacted] decided, quite some time ago, that all the books from my daze as an English Major that I had on the bookshelf that had already been fucking relegated to our BASEMENT for fuck's sake were Offensive In Her Sight and she began to pack them away in these Blue Plastic Storage Tubs that look like this:
Because in one of those tubs is my Shakespeare and my Chaucer and my Faulkner etc. But God knows which one.
Upshot: I'm reduced to getting my Shakespeare out of the public library now, like some common ... patron.
Tomorrow here on Adventures of an Ex-English Major Ass-Chapeau: A post reviewing Jonathan Franzen's Freedom without using the crutch- and/or catchphrases Dysfunctional Family, Social Realist Novel, Midwestern, or Oprah Asslick. Just to prove I really still am douche enough to keep my license.
Hahahahaha! Just kidding! It's not a competent review of a Jonathan Franzen novel unless it includes all of those crutch- and catchphrases!