To The Young Lady [read: bitch] Who Jacked My Seat In Sociology:
We are at war. I thought I would warn you. Are you even in that class? Because if you are, this is the first time you've shown up. And guess whose seat you and your spot-faced friend decided to commandeer? That's right. Mine. And guess what else?
You're toast.
Crispy, crunchy, over-processed, and acne-ridden toast. As Twin would tell you, "Your ass is grass and I'm a lawnmower." Of course, Twin also has been known to say "Wow, my grandma's really bookin' it on that lawnmower," but the concept is sound.
I'm not making any veiled threats, mind you. I'm genuinely annoyed. And if it was some sort of breaching experiment to see if it would annoy me, guess what, it did. And now you're gonna pay.
I thought I should warn you, that it would be fair and sportsmanlike and other such nonsense. But I promise, take my seat again, and I'll run my own damn breaching experiments. Namely unscrewing every joint that poor chair has. So you might just find your skanky ass on the floor. Oops.
Sincerely,
The Grand Council of Wartime Affairs,
Me.
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