This week, The Hoot received an anonymous letter from your midterm. We’re publishing it here in full, just so you know what you’re getting yourself into.
Kid, I’m going to hurt you. And I don’t mean the sort of hurt where you put a band-aid on it and everything turns out alright. I mean the sort of hurt where you’re covered in blood, the horses have left the stable, and the ferryman at the River Styx is having trouble taking you to hell because he’s just so dumbfounded by how thoroughly I managed to fuck your face up.
You thought this class was going to be absolutely chill, didn’tcha? A-okay, fine-by-me, it’ll all work out pop-pop. Oh, sure, you could see how someone else might do poorly. But not you, oh no, you know everything and you don’t need to spend 3 hours a day studying this monotonous bullshit.
Well guess what, kiddo, you did need to spend all that time if you wanted to graduate. But you didn’t spend the time, and now I’ve caught you with your pants wrapped around your ankles.
Because you don’t know shit, Jon Snow.
Two plus two does not equal yellow. Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492, not 1988, dummy. Oh, and I’ve got a koan for you. What’s the sound of one hand clapping?
It’s me, whooping your ass come exam time.
‘Cause the truth of the matter is, this ain’t my first rodeo, bub. I’ve seen kids come, I’ve seen kids go, and I’ve seen kids so dumb a fifty-point curve couldn’t save them.
You’re that kid. And that’s why I have to hurt you.