Universities, man, a tangled mess wrapped in ivy and delusion. A meat grinder, this academia, churning out contradictions faster than a cut-rate dime novel.

Feed trough for the privileged, leeching cash from both idealistic students hopped up on revolution and old money bags clinging to their legacy like a life raft. A grotesque wet dream – a financial Ponzi fueled by youthful rebellion and cocktail party philanthropy.

These institutions, man, castles of hypocrisy built on a foundation of lies. They preach social justice from the ivory tower while shaking down the country club set for obscene donations. Students, wide-eyed and wired, swallow it whole – academia the vanguard of some glorious social revolution.

But that’s just window dressing, a stage show for the cheap seats. Out back, in the shadows, it’s a different story. There, the university prez, smooth as a bucket of Vaseline, is whispering sweet nothings into the ear of the latest oil baron donor about “standards” and “breeding the next generation of leaders,” a knowing wink and a clinking of crystal glasses.

“…yeah, they’re all fired up about dismantling the power structures, man, quoting Foucault like it’s the latest beat poetry. But then, bam! Word comes down from the ivory tower like a Burroughs telegram in code: ‘we’ve dispatched the boys in blue to corral your comrades, kettle ’em up good. But hey, feel free to spend a cool four hours whining about it in the Audre Lorde Center – discussing the dismantling of the carceral state over lukewarm kale chips.

that’ll show the Man, won’t it?’ It’s a word virus, this performative justice racket, spreading through the halls like a bad case of the shakes. You can practically see the hypocrisy dripping off the tenure contracts, thicker than Agent Orange in a Vietnam flashback. Makes you wonder, man, makes you wonder if this whole goddamn system ain’t nothin’ but a rigged casino, with the roulette wheel fixed on ‘elite reproduction’ and the house always takin’ a cut. University? More like a hallucination fueled by grant money and donor blood, a cut-up nightmare where revolution and reproduction tango in the dark.”

Hilarious, ain’t it? Students, the product, pumped full of righteous anger, convinced they’re buying a ticket to a better world. The donors, the investors, expecting a return on their social capital – a world sculpted in their own damn image. Universities, fat and happy, playing both sides, the ultimate middleman in this twisted game. But the house always wins, right? Until, that is, the whole damn thing explodes. Students wise up, donors dry up, and the house of cards comes tumbling down. Fire in the ivory tower, baby, a revolution not televised, but live-streamed on every broke-ass student’s phone.