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Chemistry, Shmemistry

I'm tired, emaciated, and slightly senile, but I'm alive. For this semester, at least.

Sure, cell biology, literature, and Spanish were rough, but in the end, it was the Chemistry that finally did me in. Ugh. I'd rather let a woodpecker give me a lobotomy than take another course in that subject.

What, exactly, is the point of chemistry? Honestly.
Oh, sure, chemists can make drugs that cure horrible diseases like halitosis and male-pattern baldness. They can produce things like Teflon, Spandex, and distilled drinking water. And just where would America be if no one had taken the time to concoct that wonderful, grease-laden, butter substitute for movie popcorn? Why, we'd probably still be living in teepees, wielding sharpened sticks, and chasing buffalo around the plains like a bunch of idiots.

But what's wrong with that? The Indians seemed to do just fine without chemistry. Sure, they could have benefited from regular applications of sunscreen, but they had The Rain Dance. Anybody who can cause a temporary climate change just by shaking their tale feathers a bit is cool by my book.

(And last I checked, this is, in fact, my book.)