I played along. I was cool all semester with your goddamn loony ideas. Well now it’s time to let the fucking floodgates loose on you. This river of shit I’m about to expose is your own doing. Like I said, I played along.
I was cool with the fact that you completely disregarded the syllabus after the first day of the web design class. After all, it’s just a piece of paper, right? We have to be flexible. I was cool with you coming to class twenty minutes late every day and yelling at us for not working. Hey, I know it must hard to get up to teach your early classes. I have trouble getting up early myself, and I’m not an ancient dust-encrusted shell of a human like you. I was even cool when it became evident that you didn’t know shit about web design. Hey, why actually teach when you can get students who know more than you to explain it to the class? Goddamnit, I was even cool when you decided to make our final exam 100% of our semester grade. No pressure, huh?
And finally.
In an impressive display of composure.
I was cool when you openly mocked the website that my group, composed entirely of novices, spent months working on.
You called it ugly. That kind of hurt my feelings, but I stayed as cool as Listerine. In fact, I even found it funny that you would have the jesusfucking gall to call our project ugly after I saw the sin against nature you call a “webpage.”
Here it is. It uses her real name, but I don’t give a goatshit. Hey Internet! Nancy Jones is a fucking sluthumper!
This is the woman who is supposed to be teaching me web design. A monkey with nothing but a stick and some feces could make a better webpage than that. I hope when you are judged in the afterlife, God points and laughs, before spitting on you and casting you into the darkest reaches of Hell. Then I hope Satan cruelly rejects your sexual overtures and assigns you to an eternity of wiping his demonic ass.
Like I said, I’m cool with it. Even when she neglected to give us our student evaluation forms (in direct violation of campus policy) so that I could give her a little “feedback.” But then she went too far.
Oh, yes. Nancy Jones, you went too far. In your eternal quest to make me suffer, you crossed the line. I just took the final. I’m done with the class. Feel free to grade my presentation in any arbitrary way you want. But then you got greedy.
What’s that? You want each member of the class to send you an e-mail? And you want us to do what? You want us to BEG FOR OUR GRADE?
Fuck that. Those were her exact words: “Beg for your grade.” You just couldn’t let me escape with a shard of dignity, could you? I think she gets off on making us suffer. Later tonight, she will probably masturbate furiously as she reads the groveling words of her students. You fucking goatfelcher, just give us a goddamned grade. I’m not begging for shit. In fact, “Professor” Jones, why don’t you send me a little e-mail of you own? In fact, I want four paragraphs by 7:00 begging me not to come over there and ram my boot in your largest orifice. How about you beg me not to pound you over the head with your 3-gallon coffee mug? Or worse still, how about I glue your eyelids open and force you to stare at your shitstain of a webpage? How long before you beg me for mercy? In fact, I refuse to believe you’re really a professor. You must be some kind of fraud. You make the Piltdown Man look respectable. No real human could be as hate-filled and incompetent as you. How the hell did you manage to live so long with half your brain missing?
This Fuck’s for you, bitch.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and beg for my grade.