I don't own. Inspired by my own plight and hate.

Sam was tired. For the past four hours he has been staring into his books, checking his notes and still did not have a clue. He hated Foucault. Really hated him. Had he been the type of person to mess the with supernatural order of things, he would raise him and then kill the ghost/zombie and repeat this process until satisfied.

Sam, however was not that kind of person. He was smarter than that person, he's dealt, met and assaulted that kind of person several times throughout his twenty years of life. His dad, if he had come to find out that he became that kind of person, would love to show him the error of his ways with his fists.

John Winchester was serious when it came to supernatural and his boys were the same. You don't mess with nature. But still, Sam couldn't help but think, wonder and picture himself destroying the theorist over and over and over again.

Same hated theory. He didn't like it or understand it but most of all, he didn't want to. What he had wanted was an easy elective. He was told this class, this particular class, was about movies. You watch movies. It was called freaking Visual Literacy.

"Sam, it's really easy. All you do is watch movies and discuss them." His beautiful sexpot had told him.

What his Venus had failed to mention was that the first few movies were part of a lecture on theory, which is what the class was mainly about, film theory. He had no interest in either. He liked movies, this was true, on occasion. He however had no interest in dissecting them.

Sam soon came to find out that not only were the lectures ridiculous pompous but they were for four hours! Yeah, he had that twenty minutes break after the two hour mark but still. Sam was not a happy scholar.

He looked at his clock for the thirtieth time that night. He has five hours to study now. Five hours until the final exam of which he was destined to fail.

"Easiest class you'll take Sam. Trust me, you'll love it!"

Oh how his sexpot had lied to him. She got him good this time. She was good. He couldn't help but be impressed by her sadistic play.

He wondered bitterly what he had done to deserve this harsh punishment but nothing came to his mind. He knew her birthday, he knew their anniversaries and he always called her when he was supposed to

Sam wanted nothing more than to set his books on fire. He wanted to tear apart his notes and throw them like confetti, but he needed them. He had an entire semester to try to understand what the hell his professor was going on about, but nothing clicked.

He also wondered about just ending college and going back to his brother and father. Screw school, theory sucked. He would be welcomed by his brother with opens arms, he was sure of that. Big Brother always welcomed him back in.

Alas, then he would have to hunt as well and never be the lawyer he wanted to be or marry Jess and have a white picket fence. Sam wanted that damn fence. He wanted to paint it every three years and he wanted his son to fight with him about the upkeep. Sam was going to have that life. He just wished he didn't need theory.

Five more miserable hours left to study this damn subject he didn't understand. He could lose everything by failing this exam. Everything he worked so hard for.

What if Jess thought he was a loser for not understanding something so, "easy,"

He could picture their breakup now.

Jess rips apart a bouquet of roses. Sam stares in sad astonishment.

"I just can't be with someone who doesn't understand theory Sam!" Joe, the guy he sat next to wraps his greedy little arms around Jess's waist.

"See you later!"

They make out.

Sam shook his head free of such thoughts. He really hated theory. He looked back down at his notes. A picture of a dog was not true. The word dog was not an accurate depiction nor did it give the correct light to the signified, dog.

Sam banged his heads into his desk. He hated phone was buzzing. The cell phone danced in circles on the desk next to his stilled laid head. He groaned and answered.

"Hello?" He still had not moved his head back up.

"Sammy, my man! Are you coming to the party." He groaned once more.

"I have my final for Visual Lit in four hours. I-"

"Didn't you hear? Your professor just quit! They fled camps!"

Sam raised his head and stared down at his phone in wonder.

Was this true? Could this be right? Do these ever really happen? This was a dream wasn't it?

He slapped himself.

"Ow." He rubbed his cheek.

"Sammy get your ass down here. This place is hoppin'!"

Sammy rubbed his face blinked and pinched himself. No. He felt it all.

He loved theory.

"Uh. I'll be down in five."

Now all he has to was pick his own retaliation against his lovely blonde goddess.