When PhDs Attack

It was such an odd thing. We pissed off a PhD on Twitter yesterday basically for being insufficiently anti-Russian. 'Why do they always have Uke flags in their bio?' we asked. Let's call this PhD Frank. Frank really let us have it, being a PhD and all. Failing to be impressed with Frank's academic credentials, we remarked that we too could throw some letters after our last name, and aren't you impressed with yourself? Then a fellow PhD came to Frank's defense, and then another. 

We could turn this into a 2003 and Me Post because 20 years ago we'd finished our MA (AMU, online for those of you who like to whip out your degree and slap it on the server tray)*. A few people urged us to continue studying. We mulled it over and realized during the 3-5 years it'd take to get a doctorate we could write several novels and dozens of magazine articles. No thanks. Our life in the late 90s turned on a few bad decisions. Saying no to a PhD was our first great decision of the 21st century. We've published more in a decade than these fucking people will their entire lives.

Anyway. we learned during our professorial days, eight years ended now, that there's a certain type in the profession that must needs sign their emails: PhD, tenure track. Frank is that type.

We checked, and Frank has written a single book with 18 ratings. One of his white knight defenders, let's call her Francine, has written two books with 36 and 17 ratings. You have to put in the work, Francine told us. 

Have you ever been in a situation where you were a split second away from punching someone in the mouth? Oh....how we thought about doing so, metaphorically, on Twitter, by dropping our Amazon page in Frank and Francine's mentions.

We admit to spending more time thinking about this yesterday than we should have. Out of curiosity and because knowledge is power, we scrolled Frank's twitter feed. No wonder he only has one book with 18 ratings in print. Mr. PhD spends all day sparring with people he doesn't like. I mean, all day long. And he's still at it this morning. 

We've been here before. Once again we unhooked our gun belt and walked away. Don't wrestle a pig. You get dirty, and the pig likes it.  Besides, why punch down? 

Moving on....

Back to work on World War 1990: The Final Storm. This morning we're just going to write the scene that starts the wrap up chapter. Then we'll write the scene that comes after that. We'll underthink things [Not an issue for you-Ed].

Oh, FFS: 'The UK’s main opposition Labour Party suspends prominent member Diane Abbott as an MP, pending an investigation into comments she has made that Jewish people haven’t been subjected to racism “all their lives.”' Whoopie Goldberg thinks the same thing. Every time Abbott opens her fat mouth, somewhere a train derails. She once praised Mao. Abbott statements should come with a trigger warning, 'Being within earshot may reduce IQ'. Also the woman hates Jews. Lemme tell you something, missy. Last time we were in New York, we told our daughter to hide her Star of David. 

Monday not Metal, Monday bad not Metal. When we first saw this in 1986, we thought it was awesome:

We bought the cassette tape. We bought the VHS tape. Our father saw this and became visibly angry. Now we know why. Lennon sounds awful as he hams things up. Who are these hack carpenters playing behind Lennon? Jesus, this sucks.

*We'll be impressed if anyone gets that reference.