By Sean Garland
Disgruntled TA
This grammatically correct and scientifically factual address goes out to all the illiterate punks in CHEM 40A. Before I reveal the findings of this week-long experiment, I must give credit to the rotten miscreants that run amok in my 9 a.m. section. Without you scuzzy blockheads, I would have never had a subject to base my final dissertation on. So thanks for that, you greasy donkeys.
In regards to my findings, my research into the psyche of early “adults” ultimately supports my hypothesis. My hypothesis postulates that all of the horrid panty-munchers in the section that I teach – when approached either individually or in a group setting – are just a bunch of snot-nosed hobgoblins.
My interest in this study flourished when I found that most of the inbred imbeciles in CHEM 40A would steal the chrome fountain pen that I kept in the back pocket of my khakis, break the tip of the pen causing it to leak, and place it back into my pants pocket without my knowledge. Then, the disrespectful rascals had the audacity to pretend not to notice the starfruit-sized ink stain blooming on the back of my trousers.
Those dim-witted baboons completely soiled my good pair of work pants. Some glycerin was able to remove the physical stain, but the remnants of ink that seeped through my pants and stained my ego can never be scrubbed away.
For the sorry termites that doubt the credibility of this scientific breakthrough, I will explain the exact procedures that made this experiment a success. Initially, I purchased a brand-spanking-new chrome fountain pen and lightly coated the pen with red ink before I placed it into the pocket of my khakis. However, this phase of the experiment was not as fruitful as I had hoped; before the red ink could paint the hands of the assailants who kept stealing and breaking my fountain pens, the ink would rub off on the inside of the pocket they were sitting in, marking my khakis with the ink meant to mark my enemies.
When this didn’t work, I decided to attach a string to one end of my fountain pen and hook it onto the belt loop of my khakis. This way, when one of the pathetic loonies stole my fountain pen, I would feel a slight tug on my waist, indicating that one of the rancid lunkheads was attempting to defile my trousers.
This method proved to be a success. When one of the ugly dodos tried to steal my chrome fountain pen, they tugged so hard that they pulled my pants down, sliding off of my hips and around my ankles. All 30 of those barnyard animals bore witness to the crime that they committed against me and my khakis.
In conclusion, I hope my study will prove to be a helpful warning for all
other poor souls who have the hapless chance to cross paths with the yellow-bellied weasels in my section. Neither I nor my pants will be able to forget the many sins committed by those bottom-feeding imps; I will be especially unable to forget those crimes when I am grading their finals.
Sage Cristal is the woman of your dreams. She sings, she dances, and has a WWE Championship Replica Title Belt. She is currently training to be the next American Ninja Warrior.
