You sit there warm and comfy in your highly air conditioned classroom, why are you even here? Do you even need to take this class, or is it more of a transfer agreement with the silly little insignificant school that your parents are making you go to? My lord, you could be making money at this time of day, instead you sit their like an infant in your little spin-chair and wait to get called on by your so called “professor” or “prof” for short.
Sure, prof sure knows what she’s doing, constantly reminiscing about the “golden 1980s” and how everything was such peaces and cream back then. She gladly tells the class that she was a fellow “weed” smoker in an attempt to get on some of the students’ “at least I won’t hate this bitch for the rest of my semester” list. They aren't buying it though, after all; they've all been indoctrinated before with the “Life is a movie” type deal, you know the ones where your teachers say you can be anything you REALLY want to be no matter the cost! Just make sure to sign here, get debt here, and pretend to know something here.
You’ll eventually have a student in your class that wants to actively participate, but he isn’t your average bookwork, nor is he one of those abstract Facebook profile types, he’s more of the guy that sits their idly until he finds the correct social climate and ground to pouch and manipulate.
The professor kindly asks some members of the class to share some of their “social” accounts for a class demonstration. She has a smug look on her face on how she’s going to judge or categorize certain aspects of the accounts.
First to go is a tall potbelly looking boy that claims to be “the coolest kid in town”. His profile picture has two red solo cups with a “I LUV NJ” embroiled into his sweatshirt. The glimpse in his eyes tell you he’s not one of the brighter ones, maybe he just needs to join a cult to avoid being sent to a slaughterhouse.
The next one to go is a pale, short framed girl with bad teeth. She claims to have created some sort of “divided” art that exemplifies her message on her profile. It turns out she just used the cropping tool on Microsoft Paint and changed the filter using the default instagram selection tool. “Great” you say to yourself. Beyond the profile picture you see the array of comments saying “OMG” and pretending to incite valley girl speak to make the user feel better. “It’s all part of the psyop”, you mutter to yourself.
The last person to go up shokes you, his array of creativity, his poised speaking skills when the peons and bugmen/woman ask him “WHAT WAZ THAT?” “HuH???” and demand answers to such critical thoughts.
To end it all, you got the professor smug faced claiming it was the weirdest thing she ever saw. “You must be one of those internet trolls” she says to him, trying to hope on more popular Internet nomenclature that she knows nothing about. She’s smart for a blonde.
You and the third student lay eyes on each other and telepathically understand each other’s thoughts, there is something wrong with people not being able to dissect normal concepts online.
He might be psychopathic you think to yourself, or he just might be whatever you want him to be.