Friday, April 20, 2012


I caught one of my students plagiarizing.  Not just a little, but pretty egregiously.

Then, she had the solid brass ones to tell me it was my fault that she was failing the class, that I wasn't being fair to her.  Then, she told me she was going to go to my boss with one of her classmates that also has a grudge, and they were going to complain and get my decisions (and grades) overturned.

She can fuck off so hard that five generations on either side of her feel violated.  I did not force her to copy a paper from a website, add the class-required header, remove the works cited, and claim it as her own work.  I did my best on keeping my cool, didn't descend to the invective I was strongly tempted to unleash on her, and pointed out that the university policy both defines and sets the consequences for plagiarism, and that she acknowledged that at the beginning of the semester.

She then got even more outraged and went off again, with more verbal abuse--making sure I knew that she had it far harder in her life (lost her husband at 22--lucky bastard doesn't have to put up with her anymore) than anyone else could possibly  have had, and I had no right to suddenly tell her she'd failed a class she paid money for, and I couldn't possibly prove that she'd cheated because she'd never bought a paper.

No, the stupid cunt took one from a free site, and the whole fucking paper popped up when I searched a sentence that was far beyond her writing skills.

She did shut up when I sent her the link.

Okay, sweetie--let me get a few things off my chest: fuck you.   Fuck you, fuck your threat, fuck your plagiarism, fuck your complete inability to follow the rules of readability.  Fuck your emails with one sentence that was six fucking inches long.  Fuck your emails with no capital letters.  Fuck your use of textspeak in your email.  Fuck your defensiveness, and your attempts to try to turn it back on me as my fault.  Fuck your attempts to bully me into giving you an A for a fucking paper you didn't fucking write.  Fuck you for fucking making me fucking dread fucking opening my fucking email for the past fucking day and a fucking half.  Fuck you for fucking existing, you self-centered, fucking stupid, fucking lazy fucking ass cunt.  I don't fucking care that your fucking cousin died, or that you fucking took in her twelve year old daughter--ask for a fucking extension on the fucking paper, instead of fucking ripping off someone else's fucking work, as well as my fucking time all fucking semester.  I fucking grant fucking extensions in circumstances like that. 

May this be the last straw that boots your fucking worthless fucking lazy fucking self out of college.  And may your children, and any child coming into your care, become fucking sterile so that they can't pass your fucking genetics, or pass on your fucking example to future generations of slackers and thieves.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Judge not.

I'm in a much better mood this morning than I have been the last several Fridays, so invective will be lighter than usual.  But I am seriously cheesed off by the whole debacle about Ann Romney "never having worked a day in her life."

Feminazis can FTFO.  With broken glass and rancid habanero cheez. 

I have actually been told, by radical feminists in grad school, that I was betraying the sisterhood by taking Odysseus's last name when we got married.  I've been told that the only valid choice for me, as a woman, was going on for my PhD (which I don't want), and looking for a full time position in an English department (also don't want), and possibly going into administration (really don't want--I teach because I love teaching, not because that's the hurdle to working in Academia, and admin doesn't have time to teach), because we can't have a man telling us what to do!   I had more than one radical feminist tell me that my hobbies were wrong because they were traditional women's work (wrong--knitting was a man's work while he was watching the sheep). 

So, yeah: Feminazis can FTFO.  Susan B. Anthony would be ashamed of the lot of them.

Friday, April 6, 2012

More Speshul Snowflakes

Too emotionally exhausted by temper tantrum.  Go to my post here for your Friday insanity.