Die, You Fucking English Major Bitches


Inspired by my friend Phil Tice, who has allowed me the opportunity to see that most English Majors are insufferable piles of shit.

If you own a Mac and constantly flash it at your local Starbucks, after ordering anything other than just fucking coffee. If you go out of your way to make sure that everyone within a thirty-foot radius of you knows that you're smoking. If you eat nothing but organic food. If you are a man and own/wear a pair of women's pants. If you hate good bands simply because they're popular. If you're dating a girl who weighs more than you simply because she can discuss Shakespeare in front of a large group of people. If you have intentionally made it a point, at any time in your collegiate career to appear brilliant by alluding to Jack Kerouac. If most of what comes out of your mouth is meant to be taken in a snarky, ironic sense. This is for you.

Dear You Fucking English Major Bitches,

Speaking for the entirety of your university:
We hate you. We hate your partially long hair. We hate your bony-ass build. We hate the way you talk, walk, and live. This, despite what might like to believe, is not because of jealousy or some inability to “get” you. No, we “get you” completely. We “get” that you don't care for most things. We “get” that you like some inane band named Fuzzy Animal Slippers. We “get” that you are not a worthwhile human being, that you are the definition of douchebaggery.

That's right. You! The vegetarian! You! The “libertarian!” You! The Taoist or Buddhist or whatever the fuck you are! You are not cool because of what you believe you snotty little fuck! Religion is not a fashion statement. Stop wearing it on your sleeve. It doesn't make you appear thoughtful at all!
We don't care what the word “ova-lactose” means.
We don't care that you prefer Leinenkugels to Natural Light.
We don't care what you think of Russian composers.
We don't care if you think that we're lesser than you. We know that life is better when you don't own a fucking black turtleneck!
Stop with the fucking yoga! Go running you stupid fuck. If you like French culture so much, move to fucking France. And speaking of that, your nihilistic bullshit doesn't offend us either. It doesn't make us comment on the depth of your character. It makes us think: “Jesus, this fuckface needs to get laid.” It's not Beatnik anymore. It's just BEAT. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat! Done. Kaput. Over with. Through. Zero. Null. Out. Square. It ain't jive no more, son. It ain't cool to be like that anymore. It ain't ‘hep.'

You've done everything from defining a typical poet as a snotty, uptight overly-‘cool' bastard (or pussy) to actually thinking you know a goddamned thing about writing.

So what? You read Jack Kerouac! The Beatniks! Hah! You don't know shit about writing.

If you did, you wouldn't separate yourself from “lesser” people. Newsflash: PEOPLE WHO DO NOT READ ARE STILL FUCKING PEOPLE. THEY STILL NEED TO BE SPOKEN TO. Jack Kerouac would probably rather shit on your face than desire to be even mildly related to the way you are. The man hung out with druggies and winos and pimps.

What do we want from you?
We want you to stop. it. all.

If you keep it up, you're going to eventually choke on that biscotti. Or even better than living just for the sake of living, you might be able to use that Vaseline for fucking, instead of simply getting into that pair of capris.

Remember, not everybody eats at Panera. Not everybody enjoys French surrealist film. Not everybody cares about your eccentric hat or the fact that you own some rare breed of mouse. Not everybody can have the distinct luxury of driving an environmentally-safe moped.

Your parties suck dick. We don't want to sip on cheap wine and feel rustic; we want to get drunk and feel horny. We don't want to eat fine cheese; we want to eat pussy. We don't want to talk about anything to do with Ayn Rand. We want to talk about beer. We want to talk about cigarettes. We want to talk about cars and how women are insatiable bitches most of the time. Truly, we know that life is too short to be so goddamned serious.

What it all boils down to…is that We, the People, are true English Majors. We drink generic beer. We smoke generic cigarettes. We own Fords and Chevys. We eat and love meat. We have shitty laptops from the late 90s. We listen to bands that are the radio. We watch sports and play them with our non-reader friends whenever we can. Yes! We write our own poetry…one of relation and understanding. Words that are ACCESSIBLE, not some dry post-modernist bullshit!

We do not dismiss people readily, only the quality of their fucking character decides our opinions. We only act like we're better than you bitch-ass English Majors because we are better than you: We are real fucking people–not dick-sucking pseudo intellectual cookie-cutters.

We rely on who we are, not what we own or how we dress or what we fucking eat.

And that, you stupid bitches, is how real people exist.

Now go suck on an onion bagel you goddamned wanna-be.


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