"What?" she could picture them saying, "Philosophy still have a professor? A full one? How did that slip through the net? We'll have to sort that out, quickly!" And before you could say dog's breakfast, Philosophy's FTEs and SLEs and ASMs and RFJs would be spewing out of computers all over Bremner. It wasn't a pretty picture.
Still, she could understand the logic in a University wanting to keep its Professorate stoned. The Polish cow recently in the news merely underscored what local sugar farmers have known for decades - that while alcohol can provoke aggression in workers, the herb keeps them placid and docile.
"Just imagine," chortled Gramsci, "how different Faculty Boreds would be if they served green tea, or space cookies? No vehement discussions about timetables or admission requirements. Just spreading the lurve..."
The Cow tried. Honest, she did. But somehow she just couldn't see it. She shook her head. "I think the only drugs they're interested in are beta blockers and anti-depressants," she sighed. "I think the 70s are finally over..."