A laff from McSweeny’s:
“Do you remember the safe word?” she asked as she tightened the last of the leather straps binding him to the bench.
“Yes,” he said, shivering with anticipation. “Do it. I want you to hurt me.”
“Oh, I will,” she smirked. She reached into her tote bag and removed a spreadsheet, holding it tantalizingly out of his reach. “Do you see this data?” she demanded. “It’s a mess.”
“Ohh. How bad is it?” he gasped.
“So bad. Very, very bad. See this column? Several departments were not in compliance with the strategic plan. And this? These outcomes aren’t remotely quantifiable.”
He groaned with delight.
“But the worst of all,” she purred, striding closer on her sensible Clarks, “is the feedback we received from the Humanities. Some of the older faculty… tenured, full professors… refused to perform an assessment at all.”
“But!” he gulped. “But they put everyone’s accreditation at risk!”
She shook her head. “They don’t seem to care. In fact, do you know what they said?”
“No, mistress!” he panted.
“They said…” She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “They said, ‘Isn’t that what grades are for?’”
“Ooooooooooaaaaaaagh,” he exploded in a climax of ecstatic pain. “Stop! No more! Trivium! Trivium!”
More at the link.