Scram.

Retreat

It's clear that you're not wanted here. You didn't really want to be here anyway. How did you kid yourself into believing that you were going to make it through this?

Albert, the women's muscle-bound champion, stands before you, awaiting your departure, or, given enough time, your **** removal. You won't give him the satisfaction.

"Fine, I'm out of here." You gather your belongings and head for the door. Looking back, you spy a sly smile on the face of your adversarial professor. She didn't say a word throughout the whole altercation, yet she bears that look of smug self-satisfaction. What's she thinking, anyway?

The lecture room erupts into thunderous applause upon your withdrawal. Those goddamned cunts. They don't know what's good for them.

"Well if it ain't my ol friend, my compadre, my roommate! How's it going, Buddy?" Uday waltzes into the room in his trademark theatrical style. It must be an interesting scene: you, languishing idly at your desk, he, cavorting about the room as he often does. How's he so happy all the time?

Uday puts down a bag of groceries and pulls up a chair next to you. He puts one snake-like arm around your shoulders. "Tell me, Buddy, what seems to be the trouble?" The whole thing was so stupid and so embarassing. Do you even want to talk about it?

"Don't want to tell me about it, huh? That's okay. Here, let me tell -you- something. Today, I was gettin my mac on with this girl, Sheila. She lives down the hall. You know her? You'd like her. Except that -I- like her. Anyway, things were going great when Sheila's friend, Brandy, comes in, and there's some talking and it comes up that -you're- my roommate. And instantly the conversation shifts to you, and they're all askin me shit about you and I don't know what the fuck they're talking about, and they thought I was covering for you or some shit, and now Sheila doesn't feel like talking to me anymore. So let me ask you again: -how's it going, Buddy?-"

Uday's vice-like grip is a lot like your dad's. You tell him the sordid details.

"Why did you have to open your big mouth? I mean, even if you laugh, couldn't you have covered it up or something?" Looking back, it's hard to say what caused your outburst. It just felt like the truth coming out, as far as you were concerned.

"You know that you're an asshole, right?" Uday's got a flair for words. Oh, you do too, apparently. "Well just keep your thoughts to yourself before you wreck my chances with anybody else around here, or the school, for that matter. Later. I'm catching a flick with Ken and the dudes." Uday leaves you alone in the room.

So word has reached your dormitory about your incident with Pestova? It might not take long before everyone on the floor hears about what's happened. That's alright. You can handle some disgruntled chicks. Feminists, you can handle too. It's femi-nazis like Pestova that a problem. Worse still, she's feeding her drivel down those coeds' throats. That Albert guy is probably buying into it, too.

This is why women don't do well in academia or the workplace. They'll cry discrimination any chance they get. No wonder nobody wants to hire or admit them! Their minds are being poisoned by feminists and liberals. All you did today was tell the truth; if only they'd listen. Wouldn't it be great to show these cunts who's boss?

In any case, there's no way you can go back to that class again. Even if you do, an F is guaranteed, no matter what. Maybe you can go back just once. Start a ruckus. Yah.

If you're going to fail that class, you may as well drop it and use that time for something -useful.- You can't sign up for classes this late in the semester, so whatever it is, it isn't going to be any kind of learning.