"Get a Dog. Get a Life. Get the Fuck Out of Here." Northbound Newton Takes a Beating.

Northbound Newton was one of those little gifts we sometimes get, someone so sure he was right, so sure he'd been wronged by wickedness. As is often the case, Newton was just a jackass, and our readers wanted him to know. Enjoy the flava:

• Of course Newton's not a rat. He's just a colossal douchebag. And he seems to have the emotional maturity of my Pomeranian. Speaking of dogs, maybe Newton should get one. Because that's the only way he's ever going to get the emotional validation he seems to crave from his colleagues. He's bent out of shape because no one threw him a party for some fucking poems? Who gives a crap? Does he pay attention to every scholarly or literary achievement of all his colleagues and fete them accordingly? Bet not. And seriously. He thought his colleagues, for whom he has created more work, would do more than smile and congratulate him? How much emotional work does he expect his colleagues (whom he clearly scorns) to do on his behalf? Junior faculty don't owe the university anything more than their service. It isn't ratlike to leave. But it's pathetic to expect everyone to get all excited when you announce that you're now going to leave their inbred, shoeless, retarded cracker university for a real job with real students. And it's startlingly childish to let their lack of enthusiasm for your future happiness turn a day of glad tidings into "the worst of your life." Man, is Newton going to be cheesed off when he discovers that his next job has its own realities. And I bet NONE of those realities include "just accepting him for who he is." That's not what a fucking job is for, Newton. That's what your mom or our Pomeranian is for.
  
  
• Let's see...Cracker College made promises that you would teach interesting classes. They made you promises that life would be great, and then it wasn't. Now you're getting promises from another school someplace else that says they are interested in you and your important work. Here, (really - trust us) you'll teach great classes. I'll bet they even tell you that those students will be interested in your classes. Count me as a skeptic. And I'll be looking for your next post when you leave Northern Noncracker U.
  


• Wow, and we all thought precious snowflakes can’t amount to anything. Heaven forbid a person take a job and have to deal with seniority. Newton is an arrogant ass that gives all professors a bad name. Why can’t he teach freshman level courses; is he too good to help his students learn good technique and maybe mold them into something useful early in their college career? His office is on an inner wall, boo hoo. Many educators don’t even have an office they can call their own. His comrades in arms are senile deadwood? Maybe there is a reason they are teaching upper level… what is the word I am looking for… oh yeah, experience. Maybe the tenured, senile professors get the classes and perks because they have proven a commitment to the school and its unwashed masses (those freshmen you have to lower yourself to teach), rather than running at the first sign of greener pastures. The “cracker” university that Newton is leaving is better off without him, maybe they can get an educator instead of a prima donna. Newton is most likely going to have a rude awakening when he gets to his greener pastures and finds the pastures are never as green as they seem.
  


• Dear Newtie: When I agreed to date you, you told me a ton of lies about how great things were going to be: we would have a beautiful house, do activities we both enjoyed, and you would respect and encourage my interests. But in the three years since that time, you've taken little interest in me or my accomplishments, and we're still living in a studio apartment, with me scrubbing the toilets while you're out having fun. Happily, I've just met someone new. He's sexier than you, lives in a better part of town, makes a lot of money, is better in bed, and truly appreciates me in a way you never did. So I'm here to tell you that I'm leaving you for him at the end of May, and I'm glad, glad, GLAD that, within a couple of months, I'll never have to see you again. Wait.... why aren't you happy for me? Don't you want to help me celebrate?
  


• Howdy, Newton, it's the aged and nearly senile prof in the cushy outside office. Good ol' Geriatic Joe Bob, your favorite hayseed. You know, the one who has been here for 14 years more than you, and who has won both the university's highest teaching and research awards? You know, the, what did you call me, deadwood professor who teaches mostly upper level courses while your academic skill is wasted in mere Freshman courses. Congrats on your new job. I tip my trucker's cap in your general direction. Hell's bells, son, you're leaving? So soon? I do SO hate to see you go. I'll miss so much about you. We thought we'd have a good-bye poetry slam (complete with haybales) featuring some of your students to thank you for your service, but we couldn't find a single student who wanted to speak in your honor. Nope. Not even a danged haiku for your work here at good old Cracker U. Newton, face it, we're glad you're heading north. None of your colleagues is going to miss you either, since you've never bothered to be a colleague in the first place. And you're worse than a rat, Newton. You're a possum. Oh, and don't let the door of your sequestered office hit you on the ass on your way out of town, ok? P.S. Drop us a note in three years when you scurry away from that place, too.