Director's Cut

Fuck you.
Fuck you and your heroic working class stories told in a fancy bar
showing off your country's miseries to make you look great.
Pretending you do not like the life you have provided yourself with efforts.
Fuck the dreams you have left away to make room to your class-passing fetish.

Fuck the academy and everyone on it:
Who only cares to get sold to the better cost.
Who sells what cannot be sold.
Who thinks the client will be always right whenever funding does afford.
Fuck who offers her expertise to approve crap
sinking in the couch called "we cannot have something better now, but we are still working on it".
Fuck who rebels only for his own needs, bribing with becoming a mercenary.
Fuck people trying to make honest reviews and editors selecting material for them
at the same time they want to figure out who wrote the paper.
Fuck the significance test-fishers who get the butter in their tables making scientific methods
meaningless.
Fuck academic feudalism supported by masters and servants who just want to be protected
from the horrific outside world.
Fuck who put her feet on somebody she respects as soon as she can, just to keep her status intact.
Fuck applied solutions' sellers who contributes to rot inside the whole thing,
sweep under the carpet what smells until it starts to stink.
Fuck who thinks he's better than the system just because he points out its mistakes
from tenure heights where he arrived stepping on the same dirty stairs.
Fuck who hides his prejudice where liberal thinking is the mainstream,
just because it is the place where nobody would search for them.
Fuck the "society's watchtower" disguise of academy, still alive just because society is too lazy to look
its putrid basements.

Fuck your goal of becoming a necessary disease who everybody clap.
Fuck you, selling your friend for a pinch of feeling of power.