AAAAAARGH

The reading was worse than I thought.  One essay was lovely (C, if you're reading this, it was yours!), one was sorta pointless, but whatever, and ONE MADE ME WANT TO DROWN THE WRITER IN GREEN BEER.  And the worst thing is, in this flaming pile of dog crap that she calls a profile of an Irish imigrant "living the American dream" (actual, literal f***ing quote) and who reminds her when he "talk[s] about being an immigrant and grabbing every opportunity that comes your way, you feel as though you're speaking to your grandmother talking about when she first stepped foot on Ellis Island in 1920" this wac actually f***ing PUBLISHED somewhere.  I hope in her IMAGINATION.  Seriously, C, if you are reading this, and it's tomorrow (Tues.) please gchat me and talk me the hell down, because I want to strangle the profile's subject with the d*** strings from a f***ing Irish harp.  No, I want to tear out his guts and use them to string the harp, and then use THAT to play a dirge at his funeral.  While I laugh. 
I have not had such a visceral reaction to a chraracter in a long time and I just read a book this weekend where there was a slave owner who repeatedly raped his slave/half-sister.  And then I was like "hmm, I want to know more about their backstory, what an AMAZING subject that could have been for Perkins-Valdez to expand on." 
But this person I want to kill.  Persons.  Subject and profiler.  Well, can't do that, but clearly, I am never going to Tommy Doyles.  And once again the preferrable option will be for me to sit in sullen silence in the back of the room during class, because God help us all if I open my mouth tomorrow to comment on the paper.  And Kendall Square is not in Boston!  Maybe other people don't know the difference between the City on a Hill and the People's Republic, but that is no excuse for being sloppy.
Hmm.  Sometimes even I am taken aback by how violent and mean-spirited I am...but I guess that's because I'm not from an island in Maine :)  Good thing nobody turned in an essay this week profiling those d*** barefooted wanna-be hippies lolling about on Newbury Street playing their sitars.  I am probably going to be removed as Governor of Browntown, but something about the sitar just makes me want to hit people.  Totally the opposite of all chill and enlightenment-find-y.  Could just be the sight of other people's filthy feet out in public, though...yeah, let's go with that.