To the Jackass in the Front Row:

Hey. Hey! Stop talking. No, I don’t care. You need to hear this. So stop talking.

Before I met you I assumed that all jackasses were males. It seemed like a natural extension for stupid/insecure men to butt into conversations when they possessed no relevant information or viewpoints. But you are an exception to the rule. Before you, I had no idea a person with a vagina could also be a dick.

What? How can you be a jackass? I certainly understand your confusion; your vajayjay tricked me too. And we both know you are not the brightest crayon on the stupid train. Did you notice how I mixed metaphors? You didn’t? That’s because you’re not the brightest crayon on the stupid train!

At first, I believed you to be a regular, if less than average in grade point average, college student. I had formulated a schema in which you simply were an unfortunately open extravert. But then you told the class that you remember when gas prices were less than a dollar. Never mind that the professor who is TWICE YOUR AGE doesn’t remember such times. And after the professor called you out on this, did you balk? No. You decided to laugh unironically, bob your head, and tell the lecture hall that you are twenty-five, and therefore are older than anyone else in the room.

Now, common vernacular has a term for a man who once proven wrong, brings up that fact that they are defective and are therefore right. So when you proudly proclaim that it has taken you seven years to achieve a bachelor’s degree, there is only one word for your condition. My lady, you are a Jackass.

Also, I have begun to take bets on whether you log onto Myspace or Facebook when the lecture starts. Have you ever noticed how all those who recreationally use their laptops sit in the last two rows, so that two hundred people aren’t beaming down at their social site stalking/Youtube video watching/transvestite spanking porn addiction? Of course you haven’t, that’s why you sit front row center, as if your close proximity to the professor would guide the information into your brain. It doesn’t, as your failing grade clearly demonstrates. You do know that you eventually have to pay those student loans back, right?

Wait; did you even hear what I just said? This is important so you need to stop talking. No, I don’t care. You need to hear this. Stop talking. Hey. Hey!