All-Consuming Bitterness and a Desire to Rip Someone in Half from Limb to Limb

Thank god we only have two more anatomy and physiology classes before the end of the semester. Thank godly god about that.

Because right now, it's taking all my will-power not to pin down my A&P instructor and rip her lips and nose and eyebrows off with my teeth, like some voracious zombie.

It's not irritating enough that she's an obnoxious, irritating, rambling bitch most of the time, but now she also is sucking the teat of favoritism.

All semester we've been getting reminded again and again and again to take out our facial jewelry so that she doesn't get in trouble if someone walks by the classroom and sees someone out of dress code.

Fine.

But all semester, two students in the front row have been nonchalantly donning t-shirts without a word of complaint from her, despite the scrub-top policy. Wanna know why? One of them is the son of some higher-up guy at the school. The other is a girl she works with at her office practice every day.

To quote Dane Cook, this makes me wanna punch babies.

And to top it off, last night, M____, who sits in the back row with me, took off her scrub top about 20 minutes before the end of class and was sitting there in a t-shirt. And *AS SOON AS* she took it off, our instructor immediately zoned in on her and was like, "M______, have you been wearing that t-shirt all class? Do you have your scrub top with you?" This was met with some really disgusted moans in the back row, as we'd JUST been bitching about her obvious and obnoxious favoritism.

Her response to the moans was, "What? Are there *other* people disobeying the dress code in this room or something?"

Mind you, these two assholes are sitting *RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER*. Like literally, two feet away from her. In the first set of desks. Right in her line of view. If she moved too quickly, she could knock one of them out with a boob or some belly-flab, they're that close. And yet she *PEERED AROUND THE MOTHERF-ING ROOM* with a sailor's hand above her brow, as though she was seeking out deviants with as much energy as she could muster. And then, sudden epiphany, she noticed and noted the t-shirt of the son of the president (or whomever the fuck he is) and said, "Is that a t-shirt you're wearing there, J____? Do you have your scrubs top with you?" He pulled out his scrubs top and showed that he'd brought it. And then she had the nerve to say to the class, "See, he *HAS* his scrub top." To which most of us in the back row moaned with disgust again as she'd not demanded he put it on, as she demands dress-code adherence from everyone else. To which *SHE* responded by rolling her eyes and saying to him, "Looks like they want you to actually put the scrubs top *ON*, J_____." And yet, the rest of the class, he sat with his big bushy hair in his shitty pseudo-vintage t-shirt.

The only thing keeping my rage from burning out of control like a wild-fire is that most of us in the back row are planning on wearing t-shirts to class next week. And the nose ring stays, my bitches.

And if I hear one word out of her mouth about it, she's gonna find herself missing some important organs next week. *GRAWRRRWRWRRRR*