Ok, so I just found out that you’ve been writing about 25 emails a day to one of your female colleagues, all signed with the words “with bated breath”. GREAT! You seem to have decided that bisexual vegetarians with questionable hair choices are more up your alley. WONDERFUL! Oh, did you say that she cares about your academic career, unlike me, who is always at work? Great! I’m such a bitch, aren’t I, me with all of my work and bill paying. I’m glad that someone has the time to listen to you talk about postmodernism. That really takes a lot off my back. Actually, upon close inspection, it seems like this whole thing is taking a lot off my back. For example…
Things I Don’t Have to Do Anymore since You Have Found a Deeply Intellectual Fuck Buddy:
1. Pay your rent.
2. Get you through graduate school.
3. Hear the word “deconstruction” while I’m trying to eat a goddamn hamburger.
4. Fry bacon for you.
5. Pretend to enjoy CNN.
6. Pretend to care about all things academic.
Things I will Be Able to Do:
1. Buy shoes.
2. Eat chicken, which you find disgusting.
3. Shop at a store other than Target.
4. Unapologetically watch America’s Next Top Model.
So go ahead. Fuck her. I know you want to. I mean, you pretty much said so in that last email, now didn’t you? If you’d just get on with it, I could possibly have you out by the end of the month, and be able to enjoy all of next month’s pay check without having to buy any of your books or any of your pencils or any of your goddamn subscription-only foreign news channels. You’ve been to the movies, you’ve had study dates. The next logical step is fucking. So put down the goddamn books and get your mouth on hers. Let’s step it up! I want to go buy myself some shoes!
And yeah, I’ll be sad, and I’ll cry and I’ll eat some Ben and Jerry’s. But you know what? I won’t be homeless. You, my friend, you’re going to have to get a job that doesn’t involve reading Nabokov. So enjoy that. God knows I will. In fact, I’ll give you five bucks if you’ll just hurry the fuck up and get it over with. Take the money, dude. You’re going to need it.
Oh, and yeah, I did break into your email. So go ahead…tell me what you read in some obscure book about privacy. Tell me loud and long. Because I’m never going to have to hear that shit again.