erm, I am?
Though I have, dear reader, misled you. This post should actually have been titled Who is Godot?
The answer, being, of course, you, you and (don't panic or shirk responsibility) -you.
Please do not think I am joking. I have tried to read the play. The references to the vegetables are definitely more alluring than the allusions to the Second Coming. As Prayag had once said, "I have just realized that Jesus Christ is the most important person in human history." Which is wrong, because he is divinity now. But what complexities have arisen thus! I am much depressed. What if there was NO Christ? Is this blasphemy? Where would you and I be? Would we have ANY OF THESE TEXTS AS SYLLABI?
No, sir. I thus conclude that Godot has come for me. And precisely, Monday afternoon, Godot will come, consume me like a tasty turnip (that I am, or a crisp carrot) and then vanish, leaving Christendom scarred forever. I shall be a martyr, not in ecstasy, but still a martyr. All of you, and you, and you shall sing hymns in my name. I will hover around in white robes and silver slippers and radiant halo and say, "Haylo". All of you will then look upwards at my beatific mien. But you are stupid. For then Godot will come for you.
Hahahahahahahahaha. Don't you know? There's no point waiting. Would you wait for a dentist? No, then why wait for Godot? Why do that goddamned play? Why feel such existential dilemmas, the utter angst, the utter pain, the utter pangs of going round and round in eternal vegetabilia?
Dammit. I am also afraid of Virginia Woolf.