Really, there should be a global law that after 40, one’s age, experiences, and accumulated wisdom should qualify one for a higher degree in one’s area of expertise. In that case, I would have finished all of the classwork associated with my masters degree, and I wouldn’t have had to write this dang-blasted thesis.

Seriously, I am sure that if I locked a monkey in a room with a supply of Coke zero, Haribo cherries, a stack of papers on cognition, persuasion, novelty, and trust, and a monkey-proof laptop, that s/he could randomly peck at the keyboard and type an acceptable thesis before I will get it done.

Well, to make the competition a little fairer, I’ll add the monkey’s two youngest children to the room along with a supply of Dora videos and a yoghurt and finger-print-smeared TV.

No-the monkey will still win.