I desire to speak with the dead.

Um, like in The Sixth Sense?

No! Ugh... I thought you understood me! I thought my life's work made sense to you!

Dude! Chill...

I most certainly will not "chill," madam.

Suit yourself.

Don't you ever wish you could reach across time and space and connect with the greats of the past?

I'm just gonna leave this here...

Whoa, not cool. That was uncalled for.

What are you gonna do about it?

Not a thing.

Figures.

You know, there's a name for people like you who go around name-calling and basically wreaking havoc in academia.

People like you kicked me out of academia.

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

Maybe that would make you actually put a personal stake in your work instead of just historicizing all the blood-and-guts realness out of literature all the time. C'mon, what do you actually think about anything?

I do desire we may be better strangers.

That would keep the status quo afloat, all right.

Away, you mouldy rogue, away!

Totes.

Dude, same goes for me. Love our talks, and working together would be tops.

Aw, shucks guys, you're gonna make me blush.

You should blush. You owe me a debt of gratitude. You owe your entire "methodology" to me, and you didn't mention me once in The Swerve. Where would you and your precious New Historicism be without me and my work?

Dude, don't even bother. This guy will snub you in the country and the city.

Aw, but look at that smile... he's so jolly... just ask him about his favorite sonnet. Go ahead, see his face light up!