Do you remember that scene in Office Space, right at the beginning, where Peter is sitting in his cubicle and countless people bitch him out for forgetting the new cover sheets on the TPS reports?
Currently sitting on my dining room table are 2.5 entire copies of my thesis, 133 pages apiece, with 2.5 peoples' detailed descriptions about where I've fucked up. Add to this a point-form summary of a phone conversation my advisor had with another examining professor, who had some choice words generally describing how I suck which nicely provide an air of gratuitous underachievement to the whole process, and suddenly I become Peter Gibbons incarnate.
(A side-dish of Jennifer Aniston would be nice, though. Y'know, to make the movie analogy complete.)