Spam

I had all but survived today -- ready to shut down the computer, turn off the lights and head on home when ding! a new email message announced its arrival in my inbox. I should have left well enough alone and saved it for tomorrow, but instead I opened and read its acerbic contents. Unfortunately, the email was from one of the professors I work with, a subset of humans whom I have already labeled as a special kind of rude and socially inept. In this brief message, Professor Impertinent nitpicked an email I had sent him, pointing out its perceived flaws and foibles down to the molecular level his kind so love to wallow in. Among other egregious errors, apparently, I had used the wrong adjective to describe an upcoming meeting he was to attend, having wrongly chosen the word "brief" to describe what he indignantly informed me could not, under any circumstances, be the correct length of a meeting of such rank and gravitas.

Woe to the woman that folds this man's extra-small briefs inside out or serves his prune juice in a water-spotted glass. A warning to the poor child that drops daddy's TI-84 or mistakes his precious protons for photons. Nobody's perfect, asshole, not even you.