K, I didn't kill your kitten. For the first two weeks of class, I thought you were just horrified and taken aback by the nasty hypotheticals every philosophy class is required to provide. You made this terrible, disgusted, get-me-out-of-here-this-woman-is-a-psychopath face. Now I know that's either the face you make when you're thinking, or that you think I killed your kitten. I didn't kill your kitten. And having read your written work, I'm pretty sure you don't think. You might need some Ex-Lax. Or some serious psychotherapy.
J, it is so sweet you want to sell me weed. I was totally not cool enough in high school or college to know anyone who sold weed. That's why I teach philosophy. It's not going to get you a better grade, but I do appreciate the illegal gesture.
M, I'm counting your grandparents. You're down to two. We have five weeks left of class.
G, it's true that you outweigh me by 100 lbs. and I couldn't take you in a fair fight. You still have to take the midterm. Sorry.
S, I realize that you are soooooooo brilliant a comic that you deserve your own late night talk show. Still, I'm not sure that's a reason for disrupting class every 20 seconds to share your hilarious insights. Yes, yes, we all get that you're hysterical. That dude sitting next to you, whose hair and clothes you like to mock repeatedly for being too preppy? He's a marine just back from his hitch in Iraq. I'm seriously considering asking him to beat your ass. I think he'd enjoy it. I know I would.