My art teacher was hit by a truck while riding his motorcycle a couple weeks ago. As he hobbled painfully on his crutches I had to stifle my inner laughter. I dislike the man and think he had it coming. Anything short of screaming "KARMA!!" at the top of my lungs wouldn't be sufficient to express my joy.
He teaches art history. And on top of all my other classes I have this semester, I think his class is probably the hardest. His assignments are busy work fun searches, and his tests require pages and pages of study guides of memorization. Seriously. He gets his kicks on watching us squirm with his probing questions about Renaissance art.
I was going to relate that to the pain I felt when I ran over my foot a few year ago. Maybe even empathize with the guy, but naw, I don't feel like it.
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