(Darkened hall. Spotlight on Author. Top hat is removed. Throat clearing noises, silken handkerchief flits briefly across glistening forehead.)
My fellow children of the Stygian mud, as I behold this room full of newborn archaeologists, my eyes cannot help but dandle on those trowels clasped in your eager meathooks, and I say grip well those steely utensils, the rest of your professional life will see you scraping the bottom of the barrel and a trowel knows no equal when it comes to carrying out that humiliating task. We may only pray, as you scour your way though that timber hogshead, backside raised heavenwards, that nobody will seek to take advantage of your inviting position.
(Author looks at graduates through narrowed eyes and makes rapid biting motions a la Hannibal Lecter.)
The more astute amongst you may have spotted that the previous metaphor of a crossroads was wholly deficient, really I should have said 'a fork in the road,' but in answer to this I would say I am an archaeologist on a podium and in that sense, I truly haven't a clue what I'm talking about. But at least I have the prudence and cojones to admit it.
|Still Life with Man in Top Hat Jamming a Stick in His Eye in the Endless Pursuit of Bigger Thrills|
Apologies for using the 'fuck' word, I was warned not to do it, I did it anyway, it tends to happen when you are Irish and invited to speak publicly. But who cares? Not me. I'm only here for the money.
(Author's hand reaches into loincloth and jingles spare change in order to impress bursar's wife.)
|If you see a nice bus and you don't feel like giving it a big hug|
I say you grew up and got boring.
However, fear not the grim reality of our situation, let us follow our dream! But if that dream leads you down the bottom of a deep, stinking, Medieval ditch (for mingin' wages) might I make so bold as to suggest your dream has fled and left you following a nightmare?
So it's time to wake up Darling.
You've drooled all over the pillow.
Thank you for your time, it's been an absolute pleasure, which is a very telling reflection on the overall quality of my life.
(Low bow. Burst of applause. Author passes his top hat among the crowd before being chased out of hall. Loincloth is abandoned in pursuit.)
Tell Laura I Love Her.
'Til next time at least.