It’s quite infuriating, actually.
First, some background on the setting: I go to Yale University. Living accomodations here are arranged into 12 “residential colleges” each of which serves as something of a microcosm of the overall community, each with its own dean, dining hall, excercise facilities, etc. One can freely go about the university but needs a card to enter the college courtyards. During the summer these are all deactivated, at least for the colleges, but the summer students have temporary cards that serve the same purpose.
There is a sociology professor here whom I believe is somewhere in the neighborhood of 70 years old. He lives alone and has been single since he divorced some decades ago after an extramarital affair. I don’t know how long he’s been here, but he got his professorship at Harvard at the age of 24. This man is no intellectual lightweight. On top of that, he’s a rather eccentric fellow and shows up to eat at the dining halls where he has occasional contact with the students. So during the summer he has a bit of difficulty getting to the dining halls because, like the rest of the regular students and faculty, his ID card doesn’t work in the summer. Sometimes people try to avoid him because conversation with him is limited almost solely to the academic. He’s rather isolated from the students, and some like to crack jokes about him.
That’s where this gets bad.
Today I got into something of a confrontation over this.
I came in for brunch and sat next to this girl who I sort of know, who herself was seated next to a group of some guys who I find to be pretty much comprised of your basic breed of college jackass. Picture, if you will, a group of guys like Biff Tanon. So the professor walks in, minding his own business, and these guys begin to start cracking jokes about him. Their conversation went a little something like this:
“Hey its that sketchy professor guy!,” hisses fuckface at his friends.
“Dude! 
I see him standing outside the gates waiting for someone to let him in,” adds dipshit.
“He prawbably wants to fuck one of the chicks. I’m like, 'get the fuck out of here, old man,” says ass-tampon.
I heard ever word they said and I was trying to say, “Dude, please. That’s in very poor taste.” They don’t hear me and continue.
“
I wonder what would happen if I threw this salt shaker at him?” said dipshit, who is to become a central character in this drama.
“He’d be all like, ‘Ah, my head,’” says fuckface
Dipshit turns to the girl sitting next to me and comments on how her book is about psychological trauma and said something to the effect of, “yeah, since he molests chicks he probably wrote the book on recovery! haw haw haw.”
“Ok,” I say to myself, “enough of this shit.”
I get up and push my chair back and grab my tray rather conspicuously. Before I move away from these assholes I fix dipshit with what probably wasn’t as hateful nor piercing a stare as I would have liked, and go sit down at another table.
Infuriated by their junior high-caliber stupidity and general lack of respect I spill my orange juice and begin sopping it up, which was difficult because I was so goddamned pissed. I continue eating, slightly worried because, given the level of maturity those fuckheads displayed and their apparent physical condition, I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them had decided to “smack some sense” into me or some such.
Dipshit approaches me some moments later and asks me what my problem was.
“I found what you were saying about the professor to be in extremely poor taste.”
“But you weren’t familiar with the context of what we were saying.”
“I heard what you said.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, I know him.”
“So then you just have a subjective view of what we were saying and don’t know the context… blah blah blah blah.” He was full of shit and I didn’t say anything, except looking at him occasionally. I pretty much was shoveling pancakes into my mouth the whole time. Eventually he apologized for what he said and apparently expected one from me.
I didn’t.
What the fuck do YOU know about context or subjectivity in this case, fuckwit? Shit-trolls like you just look at that wretched, lonely old bastard and see something to make fun of. CONTEXT?! Have YOU bothered to get to know him? You probably move away just like everyone else, asshole. “Subjectivity?” Are you saying that because I’ve bothered to get to know him and have conversed with him on a more casual level, even gotten this apparently stuffy old man to use the phrase “way the hell over there” that my vision is clouded as to the “harmlessness” of your teasing?
Ass. A load of ass.
When you get to know him, THEN you can poke “harmless” fun at him. You can make harmless cracks when you respect this man’s intellect and can appreciate the longevity of his career. In the meantime, dispense with this crap where you brag to your shit-for-brains friends about how you think you’re superior to him because you’re a buff twenty-something so cock-sure of your sensibilities that you can flagrantly act like a festering chancre and he’s just some dirty old hermit.
Context. Subjectivity. Give me a fucking break with your worthless buzzwords. Joking or not, you just make fun at his expense and giggle because he can’t hear you, you puerile urethra-squirrel. You just look like an ass. This is Yale; a college. At the very least, you should have left your middle school-caliber “humor” back in the junior high school cafeteria. You should hold yourself to a higher standard, and I just let your sorry ass know.
Just go straight to hell, you obnoxious peckerwad.