british literature can suck my left one

I've got a scared feeling in my tummy and in my head, because I have Brit Lit tonite, and I haven't gone for two weeks. It's a once-a-week class, two and a half hours, boring fucking Brit Lit. My grudge lies in the fact that there are 50 people crammed into a room meant for a class of 30, 50 people trying to do material that was meant for a class of 20. It's so impersonal, and all the ones who have inside jokes with Dr. Roe sit up front and laugh their elite little laughs.

You know, subconsiously, my hate for this class might come from the fact that we're *only* reading poetry by white, male authors from the 1800's. So, they're half of the current literary canon. Who gives a fuck?