When you stopped replying to my emails four months ago, I googled you and found your blog. Now my wife and I read your blog daily. We could farm the Sahara with the collected tears of laughter we have shed since finding it.
I know that you’ve bought a new skateboard and reviewed all the best spots to “shred it up” in our fair city. I know how many weekend road-trips you’ve taken with your friends. I know that you’re taking guitar lessons and how much you spent on your new guitar. I know that you’re actually getting pretty good. You must be practicing a lot!
By extension, I also know that all of your excuses for missing class and assignments are bullshit. Working night and day at your job? (Don’t think so.) Been bedridden with unspecified illness? (Nope.) Emotionally distraught after breaking up with your girlfriend? (Which one would that be? Nancy? Elaine? Lisa? Sarah? Olivia? Nicole?) You didn’t do any work on your advanced senior project this term. You get an “F.” Yes, I know that you wanted to graduate this term. It’s still an “F." Yes, you told me that your parents and grandparents are flying in from Korea for your graduation. It’s still an “F.” Yes, I know that you could graduate if I gave you a “D.” It’s still an “F.”
And I received the lab report that you wrote for another class (it still had another professor’s name on the title page). No, that recycled work is not the project we agreed on. You’re still getting an “F.”
Dude.
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