The Seven Deadly Sins (Part 7.1): Lust – Oh Come All Ye Horny

There is a reason why I saved this particular Sin for last. Part of it is because it delves into some pretty embarrassing segments of my life, and the other part is that out of all of the seven, this one has more to do with me than any of the others.  This is one of those issues where people will read the post and may possibly say, “I never needed to know that about you.”  And if that’s the case, by all means, you should back away slowly, turn, and shut the door behind you.  But when I started this whole descent into the big 7, I promised myself that I would be honest with myself, and look at myself, for lack of a better term, in my stark naked glory.  If I hide now, I feel like I’m giving up inches from the goal line.  And because this is kinda a big topic for me, I’m splitting the post up.  So…okay…are the kids tucked away?  Are we good to go?  Fantastic.  So here goes…

Lust.  Sex.  Pure carnal passion.  I don’t think there has ever been any force that has driven me so hard in my life as this particular sin.  Ever since I understood the pleasure of even…kissing a girl, I was hooked.  I figured out from an early age that liking each other lead to hugging, hugging led to kissing, kissing led to touching, touching led to naked, and naked led to…well, okay, I didn’t know any of that early on.  I just knew that I wanted it.  I remember that I got my very first Playboy in my early teens, smuggled to me by my father.  This was the 90’s era so we’re talking Jenny McCarthy pre-View and pre-Singled Out, The Swedish Bikini Team (yes, that was an actual thing), and a lot of Baywatch babes…pre-Baywatch.  I was highly attuned to the fact that I loved the female form, and very much aware that my hormones were doing the Lambada like it was Carnival in Rio.  But then…what teen boy wasn’t like that?

Thing is…I became a senior in high school and prospects were bleak that I would understand how to harness this all consuming energy into anything productive.  Towards the end, I realized that I would be one of the people whose virginity would be intact by the time I left.  Which…honestly, was okay.  I was a goober, a nobody, had the self esteem of a slug…and if I had any presence in the school at all, it would have been a vast improvement on the existing predicament.  Forget unfuckable, I was literally untouchable.  It was a good thing, looking back on it, because honestly I don’t think I deserved it.  But try to convince an 18 year old me of that, and he would have shown you the restraining order his left hand had taken out against him.  See, at this point, I should have realized that I was never going to have a normal sex life, and I should have come to terms with that.  Instead, I wore that cloak of desperation around me, which made me invisible (or repulsive) to the women who may have seen me as an object of fancy.  So my lust remained unabated until I was 20 and change, and a woman took pity on my unmarred manhood.  My first time was essentially a “mercy fuck.”  But at the same time, Amber was incredibly patient, attentive, and allowed me to learn at my own pace, never criticizing.  It was more “mercy” than “fuck” to be honest.  And thus ended my 20-some odd year stint as a cherry.

Considering the fact that before she came along, my first and only real relationship where I had even remotely come close (pun intended) to having sex, was with a girl who curled up into a fetal position and cried every time she reached orgasm, and then later tried to lambaste my privates on the end of a pair of scissors if I didn’t get her preggers…  Let’s just say that I didn’t exactly have a lot of hope for my sexual future.  If there is such a thing as sexual imprinting, Lust would have tied a noose around her neck and taken a swan dive off the Brooklyn Bridge.  But let’s face it…young men and their hormones can pretty much justify anything if we really want to…and lord did it want to.  Lust would not be deterred if only I would stop barring her way.  And as soon as that mental blockade shook loose, things became so much clearer.

I understood what it was that I was missing up until that point.  Suddenly, an entire world opened up for me, and it was like a kid who suddenly discovered a brand new jungle gym in his backyard.  I didn’t really have much experience at this point, so I didn’t know what I liked and what I didn’t like…so everything became fair game.  Lust leaped out of me and said “try anything that they’ll let you.”  And lord, did I ever…  Though I won’t lie to you, this new found willingness to dare all got me into trouble quite a few times.  Like a woman that I met at a bar who was probably about 6 or 7 years older than me, who took me home and surprised me by telling me she was an ex-dominatrix.  I learned two things that night: 1) I don’t really enjoy having my junk stepped on by a woman in thigh high boots, and 2) Never use rope that hasn’t been properly treated to tie someone up or it will leave a mark for a few weeks.  Also an addendum: You can’t say a safe word if you’re gagged.  Just food for thought.

My 24th birthday, Amber, some of her friends, and some of mine, took me to the bar that I used to bounce at.  We were already so blitzed during pre-game that I was surprised that I even remember the birthday BJ that I got in the stockroom.  That was, by the way, also the last time that night that I wore my pants.  I didn’t even remember the outcome of that evening until the next morning when I woke up naked on my futon bed with a beer bottle for a pillow, Amber naked next to me, her lady friend naked next to her, and HER lesbian friend passed out face down ass up on the floor.  My buddy Kevin was sleeping in my bathtub with my pillow and a blanket, who only woke up long enough to explain to me in great detail about an epic four-way, that he regrettably could not be a part of due to a bad case of whiskey dick.  And with that slight reminder it all came flooding back in flashes of body parts, and discarded clothing.  It was also the next morning that I found out that they had not only allowed me to party in my boxers for the rest of the night, but allowed me to walk home from the bar like that!  I never did see my favorite pair of khakis again…  (Hashtag Worthit)

Lust went from being my motivational drive, to being an outlet.  Let me explain.  Before I was able to express myself sexually, that lust was simply an energy that went unfulfilled and sat stagnant inside of me, leading to airs of desperation and loneliness.  Because of that, the desperation was what was causing me to move and express myself, which created a barrier 5 feet wide in diameter around my virginity.  By sheer dumb luck, someone was good enough to plug all this excess energy that was circulating inside of me and give it somewhere to go.  Once that energy diffused, I was no longer confined to use lust as a driving force, but rather I was free to wield it the way it was supposed to…as a tool.  This tool is vital in no longer being considered a Nice Guy.  This is what other people call “passion”, “spontaneity”…  It is what all men have in their arsenal when we are no longer confined to having lust be an internal hamster wheel.  The ability to wield Lust in the way that you want is actually what separates the “men” from the “boys.”

My perspective on sex has changed a lot between my 20’s to my 30’s.  It was a lot easier back in the 20’s, because back then, there was no real thought process involved in it.  I had no god damn idea what I was doing, so it’s not as if thinking about it was going to make any changes.  Being dumb and letting the “lesser brain” move me was actually very beneficial for me at that age.  When I went out, I never really took disinterest for a flat out “no.”  Now…before I go any further, let me just write this brief PSA: NO, FUCKING MEANS NO.  If you think that what I wrote above means that it somehow justifies taking advantage of someone, I will filet your worthless man parts, you gutless douche.  We now bring you back to your original programming.  What I mean is that, just because she showed no signs towards me initially, didn’t mean that she couldn’t become interested in me.  I had a certain assertiveness in my sheer stupidity.  As an example…I had a friend of mine who was an exotic dancer, who saw me as exactly that: just a friend.  It’s that terminology that strikes fear into every red blooded male out there.  I saw her (fully clothed) at another friend’s party one night and I asked her if she wanted to go grab some dinner and a cocktail sometime.  She responded “I’m not really trying to see anyone right now.”  I returned with “What a coincidence!  Me neither!  I’m still asking if you want good conversation over some good grub and some booze though.”  And she said yes.  After that, during the course of dinner, I just had fun, not letting Lust take control over the reins, and let her relax and the rest came naturally.  We were in her bedroom about 3 hours later, and everything went well.  …although she did managed to break out a flogger without me looking and hit me so hard I couldn’t sit down the next day.  I literally didn’t see that one coming.  But the lesson still stands: I had confidence back then based on completely NOTHING, and it worked.

I guess the lesson that I took away from my early 20’s is that I had nothing to lose.  I literally started from zero experiences, so nothing could suffer by comparison.  I admitted I knew nothing, and that nothing that I ever watched on porn would prepare me for the real thing.  So I was just down to do whatever, and try whatever.  I’m not so different even now.  But I also realize that my experiences in this field our solely unique.  Not just that but it was kind of like learning the piledriver and wheelbarrow before ever touching on missionary.  I was dropped into the advanced class and told to learn.  The thing was…I was afraid that if I stopped my momentum that it would stop happening to me.  Not that I was against any of it!  But it does make me wonder if I somehow missed out on how normal people do things.  Lust is…an out of control power.  To harness it requires a lot of patience, a lot of self discipline, and enough cold showers to make the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge feel like a tropical shower.  And I didn’t learn how to do any of that until my late 20’s.

(TO BE CONTINUED…DUN DUN DUN!)

Dating 401: Girlfriend, Wife, Boyfriend, Husband, Red Fish, Blue Fish

Alright, you bunch of degenerates, wake up!  I know it’s early, but today we’re going to discuss a topic discussed on yesterday’s broadcast of Aural Stimulation.  For those that didn’t read the damn syllabus, then you’re in luck!  They archive their shows on their site and you can listen to the broadcast online!  IF you still fail to listen to the show, neither I nor my esteemed colleague Melissa will be in during our office hours because I will be teaching her Japanese over a bowl of good ramen.  So with the fact that your final grade WILL be on the line, I direct you to the topic at hand: What is the difference between Girlfriend / Boyfriend Material and Wife / Husband Material?

Look…no matter what, the qualities that you want to have in your partner, whether you intend to put a ring on her, are still going to be the same.  There are established criteria that we look for that designate someone who is a good fit for us, especially when we’re pondering taking the so called “Plunge.”  While those qualities may be as different from person to person as snowflakes, I’m relatively certain that there are particular qualities that will have you running for the nearest Tiffany’s a lot faster.  Having said that…just because your potential wifey has those qualities, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re going to the chapel.  And just because they don’t have those qualities doesn’t mean that they’re going to end up on Spinster Way, living in the Crazy Cat Lady Hut.  It’s all about context, and what the individual decides is the deal breaker when making that Ever After decision.  So let’s take a look at them and increase the chances of you not becoming a Beyoncé song.

1. Bow-Chicka-Bow-Bow – Well let’s get this over with right off the bat. You have to be sexually compatible. Forgive me for getting vulgar for all those virgin ears out there, but you are going to fuck this person for the rest of your life (supposedly)…the sex has got to be good. Seriously! Are you going to spend 4 months pay check on 3 minute lazy blowjobs and dry handies? If you’re a crazy kinky sex maniac, and they’re a vanilla-villa piece of Wonder Bread, then you’re obviously going to find more than a few sexual hurdles to clear.  Look, I get it.  If you’re marrying someone the emotional trumps the physical a lot of the time.  But guess what?  Theoretically…this is the last person you are ever going to sleep with. Better make it count…or pray for an open marriage…or that the other person dies first.  Because a leopard doesn’t change its spots, folks.  If they are only DTF once a month, once you get married, you better get real comfortable with manual labor, cause you’ll see probably only see that monthly sex once every COUPLE of months.  So know ahead of time what you REALLY want, and for god’s sake be honest about it.  If it’s a deal breaker, then say so before you say those vows!
2. Mind Your P’s and Q’s – Let’s say you finally reach that point in your relationship where you make the insane decision, that it’s time to take your partner home to meet the family.  Here’s the thing…they have to be able to at least PRETEND to be nice to your friends and family. Yeah, your mother talks about her two cats pretty much every 3 minutes. Yes, your dad is talking about propane vs. charcoal grilling. And sure, your little brother screams about video games, and grandma is just a wee bit racist. Doesn’t matter. You have to have those manners intact in front of them with that goofy smile, the patient ear, and nodding head.  The only clue that they can give you that they are overwhelmed in meeting your insane brood is a slight widening of the eyes, which is your preset method of communication which says “HELP ME, YOU SONUVABITCH!!”  In the end though, these are going to be the future in-laws.  And if you are close to your family, there is no way to avoid having your partner getting to know them…maybe even love them.  Cause let’s face it…if they want in into this freak show you call your family, (lord knows why) they have to be able to hang.  Smile, converse, dress appropriately, laugh often, and help to clean up afterwards.  They can wait until they get home to scream at you that you didn’t mention that your grandfather was an old Nazi war pilot, or that you didn’t save them from your mother’s desire to talk about all the recent renovations to the house.  Bottom line: It’s trial by fire, but if you pass the test, it’s a way of saying “Welcome to our bat shit crazy family.”
3. Money Money Money Money – They have to at the very least, understand the concept of a budget.  I’m not saying that they can’t buy the things they want.  Life is sometimes all about the hedonistic pleasures of an exercise in capitalism.  I’m just saying that they need to be able to prioritize the electric bill over a pair of Sam Edelman shoes that are 10% off at Macys.  I’m not saying they’ll do this…but if your kid from your first marriage’s future college fund starts going down, and conversely your significant other’s collection of water pipes seems to grow…maybe there might be a correlation there.  I dunno, I’m not an accountant. But being fiscally responsible just means that you know where your money is going.  If at the end of the month, they can’t figure out why they’re short on rent, but they can tell you down to the cent, how much they’ve spent on decorative commemorative swords from famous movies…then perhaps their focus needs to be redirected.  You’ll always find people who will tell you that “money isn’t important.”  That “love is the only thing that’s important.”  These people have never wanted for anything in their lives, and has had a silver spoon in their mouth, and a gold rectal thermometer in their ass since they were infants.  Because I promise you that nothing will turn a good relationship into a screaming match the likes you haven’t seen since Jerry Springer, like trying to figure out where the money went to pay the heating bill in the dead of a Polar Vortex winter storm.
4. Always A Good Decision – They have to be able to make good overall life choices. Should I go back to school? Yes. Should I go to the gym today? Yes. (Not calling my imaginary wife material fat, I’m just saying she’s making a good decision for herself.)   Should I sleep with my roommate’s meth dealer? No. As a person, your partner at this point in their lives, should at least be able to make their own decision.  Now mind you…I’m only talking about the simple decisions that almost everyone can agree are good or bad decisions.  Those every day questions about morality, or those types of questions where you can’t see the outcome?  Well most of the time, we’ll never know if those decisions were good or bad until we are already neck deep in the consequences.  Those kinds of decisions, yes, your partner should absolutely come ask you.  BUT…they take responsibility for their own decision, or take equal blame for any decision you make as a couple.  They’ll still take what you say into consideration as long as it’s reasonable, it’s just that their final decision on these things won’t have to solely rely on your say so. Cause if you are their Magic 8 Ball and you give the wrong advice…HOO MAN, you better be ready for some bitterness, resentment, and an expensive divorce somewhere down the line.  All I’m saying is that responsibility is shared, but their independent decisions are theirs.  Don’t mix those up, otherwise you end up taking that stress and bringing it into bed…and usually, it won’t lead to the fun type of angry sex.
5. Lean On Me – Along this line…my partner supports ME on things that will potentially make me better. I’m not saying that they should support me moving high into the Himalayas, so I can paint glacial runoff all year round if I have all the artistic talent of Miley Cyrus with a paint brush stuck in her ass and twerking over a canvas. I’m saying that they think of me, know my potential, and then supports me when I want to do something that will maximize the things that I’m good at.  Because to care about someone means that you see all of them.  Their good and their bad.  A good partner is able to be a catalyst for your good, and neutralize the bad.  The thing is though…they need to be there willingly when things get rough. Because it’s easy to stay together when everything is working, it’s quite another to work through things when they aren’t.  Mainly, this characteristic all comes to how far you’re willing to go.  Look…if I’m a hopeless case, and I’m pulling my partner down into the Rabbit Hole Express to a Tea Party with Failure…then know what?  Ditch me.  Better only one person shatter their bones when they hit rock bottom, especially if your partner has all the potential.  Mind you…if I’m so big of a loser that you have to cut me loose to keep from falling with me, then chances are you’re going to have to extricate yourself from a very firm grip.  Which leads me finally to…
6. You Is Kind, You Is Smart, You Is Important – For god sake, marry someone who values themselves. If the person says yes to your proposal, then you can pretty much assume that they already know YOUR value, and since you popped the question, then we can assume that you see theirs.  The thing is though, what makes for an important distinction is how well they see their own value.  My favorite segment from a Katt Williams comedy routine goes “Bitch, it’s called SELF ESTEEM!!!  It’s esteem of the motha fuckin’ self!  How the fuck can I make you feel bad about YOU, simple bitch!?”  Surplus and unneeded amount of expletives aside, the man has a point.  Having self esteem means that you know your own worth, and therefore will not settle for anything less than what you deserve.  This, in turn, also makes me feel better because I know that someone of value sees value in me.  It’s an important distinction because if you don’t see yourself as much, then your partner will constantly be questioning their own value, OR…they’ll believe that they can do better because THEY understand their own value, and they are with someone who believes they have none.  Just know your worth, kids.  Because 9 out of 10, I guarantee that you are worth a whole lot more than what you value yourself for.

Alright, well the bell’s about to go off, so I leave you with these thoughts.  Being a girlfriend / boyfriend, doesn’t mean that you don’t have these characteristics.  It’s just that in the beginning, when you are still really getting to know each other, it’s all about simpler and more general characteristics.  Are they funny?  Are they smart?  Are they cute?  What kind of music do they like, what kind of food?  These general characteristics lay out the groundwork for some of the bigger ones as we outlined above.  As I stated at the beginning…what I find to be important in my forever-mate may not be what you need in yours.  And just because they have all of the above doesn’t mean that you won’t find something else to be a potential deal breaker.  What it comes down to, and is really the only actual criteria that matters when deciding if you are going to wifey up your partner…is that you love them more than anyone else.

Now if you’ll excuse me…I’m gonna go have some ramen.  Dismissed!

Verbal Jujitsu: Fighting Heightism With Sarcasm

The other day, I was checking my WordPress dashboard to see search options that led people to my little corner of digital space.  One of the very first things that appeared for top searches was “short men should die.”  Now…I know I should have let that go, because feeding trolls is like feeding Gremlins after midnight.  You’re really only propagating the species.  Unfortunately, with my curiosity lit, I proceeded to exercise what I can only describe as a practice in self flagellation.  I went on Google and started a search.  Now…in the internet’s defense, some of those posts were in support of my vertically challenged brothers.  Others declared open war on anyone under 6’0″.  Since I also started a Twitter account (a decision I’m waiting to regret), I searched through #shortguys to see what social media had to say on the subject.  It is an absolute travesty of epic proportions.  Seriously…the things that were written, and the people who commented in support are an absolute atrocity!  Not a single one of them…KNOWS HOW TO WRITE!!

I mean, my GOD, people!  We live in an age where you can proofread every word you write before you send it out!  There’s no excuse for such terrible wordplay!  First of all, “manlet” is not a word.  It is not in the hallowed halls of the Oxford English dictionary with words like “YOLO”, “cray”, and “amazeballs.”  Perhaps you meant the word “mantle?”  I could see how that could get confusing since you only misplaced the “t”.  You really need to slow down your typing and realize those red squiggly lines that appear under words mean that you spelled something wrong.  Oh!  I see, you meant that as a derogatory term?  Unfortunately, the suffix “-let” doesn’t really exist, nor would it particularly mean “little”, as you seem to want it to mean.  The word itself sounds like it’s a combination of the word “man” with the word “outlet.”  So…I’m a male outlet?  I’m a plug?  No, I’m afraid that doesn’t make sense.  I’m sorry, but you’re simply going to have to do better.  Deduction -8 points.

Okay…so now I see a Tweet that says “if U R unner 6’0″ do me favor and plz kill self”.  Right then…this sentence is just RIPE with red marks, sweetie.  You really need to learn to form your words, okay?  First of all, if it begins a sentence, you always capitalize the first letter.  I don’t know how you were educated, but I learned that in elementary.  Secondly, the letters “U” and “R” are letters unless you abbreviate it with a period.  And usually if you abbreviate a “U” it stands for “University.”  I have no idea what R would stand for.  Perhaps you meant “you are”?  You really must learn how to utilize your words.  Also, did you mean “your” or “you’re”, because believe me, that will make a difference.  And oh dear…you spelled the word “under” wrong.  Either that or you wanted to combine the letter “R” with the “unner” and you wanted to spell “runner?”  You have a spell check, you really need to use it, okay?  Because killing 6’0″ runners, and killing under 6’0″ people is really going to change the body count.  Also it is “do me A favor.”  Let’s not forget our articles. They are our friends.  Oops, I see another spelling error.  It’s not “plz” but “please.”  I appreciate that you are trying to be polite in telling people to die, but misspelling is just rude!  Now…you say “self” here.  You need to be specific with this.  Is it MYself, YOURself, HIMself…  You see how this can be confusing?  Did you want me to kill you because other people are under 6’0″ tall?  Whatever you meant to say, suicide is NOT the answer.  Just because you are a terrible writer doesn’t mean you have to die, okay?  Maybe you may need to go back to elementary school and pass the 2nd grade like you were supposed to, but it’s not the end of the world.  Don’t die just because we’re under 6’0″, okay?  It gets better, I promise!  But having said that…this is absolutely horrid sentence structure and spelling.  I’m sorry, but deduction -14 points.  Hope you can read my comments under all the red pen marks.

Oh, here’s an entire blog entry!  Lovely!  I see, so this post is supposed to be meant as satire!  Much like Swift’s “A Modest Proposal.”  Wonderful, I can’t wait to read it.  … … …  Hmm….  No.  I’m sorry, but this doesn’t constitute satire at all.  Not even a little bit.  You see here, you are trying to advocate gassing all short men and trying to tie it into the unrealistic beauty expectations for women.  Then, in the next several paragraphs you rant about short men being the most vocal about a woman’s beauty standards, short men lowering your social value by asking you, “a taller woman,” out, all while claiming to be a feminist…without showing a single shred of evidence that this occurs.  Now…I applaud the intellectual practice of writing from another person’s point of view in order to provide satirical perspective, but unfortunately you failed in almost every aspect of what makes a satire…satirical.  First, let us look at the premise of writing from the feminist standpoint.  The fact that you write as a “feminist” and yet write in a manner in which the opinions are so blatantly anti-feminist…are you trying to insult feminism?  Because last time I checked, the entire idea of feminism was to empower women to be independent and be equal in a patriarchal society…and certainly isn’t about the antiquated perspectives of beauty shoved upon them by other women, men, or society in general.  So okay, maybe you are satirizing feminist thinking.

But wait…now you’re writing in a completely superficial tone, claiming height as the standard of attractiveness for men.  In fact you write about this for several paragraphs, completely ignoring your earlier feminist take!  …so now we are insulting superficial people?  Okay, well I have no problem with that.  I don’t like them anymore than you do…  But wait…now you created a hashtag for Twitter telling readers to gas short men.  So people are supposed to use this hashtag in an ironic fashion?  Oh, of course…cause Twitter users are renowned for their ability to read between their allotted lines.  You are saying that short men who are actually held to an equally unrealistic standard of male attractiveness by women, are a problem.  Then if you were satirizing the early perspective, does that make THIS the real point?  Are you actually advocating gassing short people?  You see…you tried to be too ambitious with your insults!  We don’t know who you are insulting any more!  You are just a troll now.  Have a cookie.

Satire is like…literary math.  You can try and solve the problem, but you still have the prove your results.  Just…instead of multiplication tables, pie, and symbols, you use humor, irony, juxtaposition, etc..  Without a solid foundation on what your actual point is, and then proving it through actions and data, all you have is a trolling rant.  You come off as an infant who pounds the keyboards with his palms covered in crayon marks crying at nothing…or everything.  NOBODY KNOWS!  For god sake, writer…explain yourself!  One of my favorite satirists of all time has got to be Mark Twain.  In Huck Finn, there are many juicy tidbits about how Twain saw the nature of American society through the eyes of Jim or Huck, like in this juicy tidbit: “What’s the use you learning to do right, when it’s troublesome to do right and isn’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?” This line worked because he set up the scene and the character, who is consistent throughout the book.  Satire is all about laying that kind of ground work, being consistent, and THEN changing the perspective.  Once you laid the groundwork, those contrary opinions based on different perspectives can seem ironic, and therefore satirical.  “HI!  I’M NOT RACIST BUT I HATE ALL RACES!!  RN’T I IRONIC!?  SATIRE!!”  is in no way shape or form within the subtle realm which you claim to tread.  Go back.  Read some good books under that bridge where you live and stay there.  I’ll make sure to bring you a goat.  What you are doing is running into a crowded movie theater, yelling “Fire”, and then laughing at the people getting trampled to death.  Time for you to do your homework.  Start by reading Huck Finn and…let’s throw in Gulliver’s Travels for good measure.  I expect a 1000 word report about satire citing those two books on my desk by Monday.  This paper you handed in gets -67 points and an auto fail.

To the rest of you desperately poor writers who expound about the evils of short men, and how we have our deaths coming…I would ask that you all learn how to form an insult.  Choose your words carefully!  An insult without a shred of truth in it is like taking a bite of an apple and finding out it was made of wax!  Sure it looks like the real thing, but inevitably you’re the one who looks like an idiot.  And for god’s sake, craft that insult so that it is above reproach!  Prove your argument with facts so that it doesn’t crumble at the slightest breeze!  Don’t come to me with data from a social experiment of 50 people and expect me to take that as indicative of the entire human race either!  Your argument must be well laid out, and have a thesis statement.  Try starting with an outline, that sometime helps.  And for god’s sake, make sure that you’re spelling everything correctly!  Nobody likes a grammatically incorrect troll!  Come on now, internet!  Right now you aren’t just failing my course…you’re epic failing it!

I expect that report on my desk by 9 AM Monday!  Dismissed.