Crumple and...

I'm sitting in the Arts Millennium Computer Suite and translating away like the mad hoor that I am. Suddenly, a one eyed monster representing every shade of mundane and pity comes and sits right across from me.

'P'tak fy-oop glee'

Her Clingon-speak unbenkownst to me, her IPOD is screaming out of ears some rocknrolla song that I'd rather not be listening to.

I, being the kind, biopticular enabled pod that I am, attract her attention.

Mouthing, I enhance: Would you mind turning down your music, please?

She continues typing, then glances: the middle finger in all its glory. The 'fuck off'. The 'who are you to tell me to decrease volume'. The 'you can swing for silence, ya twat!'.

I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe that someone would treat me with such lack of respect. It's not as though I willed her first born spawn to me. What a...

Right, I'm bound by a deadline to finish this thing and I will.

And I did.

I wasn't going to leave without Mary knowing what she was. So I scribble.
'I HOPE THAT YOU KNOW THAT YOU ARE A CUNT'

I attract her attention but her alien senses had by now adapted to my human attractions.

'You're a cunt!'.

She still can't and won't let herself hear me, although most of the upper half of the room are stunned that I have stood up and called some unsuspecting a cunt.

I slap the page right in front of her screen - cause I'm going to let her know what I think. It froths and grunts and crumples the page into a ball. Fucks it at me she tried, whacked the girl to her right she did.

Poor bitch.

I left seething because I was treated like shite. I hope that there's some part of her inside that knows that she did wrong.

And I hope that I never have to call a woman a cunt again.