Hi Chris,

I hope this email finds you well.

Discussion was really helpful the other day (you’re an awesome teacher) but I just wanted to follow up on something that I’m a little confused about. 

What I’m a little confused about is why you think that my flawless paper was a B-. 

I don’t know who died and made you king of Intro to Psychology, but they were clearly missing a little thing called being smart. My paper was perfect. It was revolutionary. I could weave words around you and your crusty old grandma. For you to think it was worth a B-, you must need to get a new prescription for your wire-framed glasses, nerd. 

Who knows what shithole you come from, but where I’m from in New Jersey, we’re more careful about who we throw around B minuses to. That’s right, I’m connected. To the mob. The Italian one.

This letter is me politely asking you to screw your little brain on tight and take a second look at my paper, before I find someone to do it for you. My cousin’s brother’s wife works in sanitation, if you know what I mean.

Yes, Chris, this is a threat. And you should be very scared. Cousin Gina owes me a favor for the time I stopped Uncle Mikey from flushing her hamster.

Meet me behind CAS at 3 pm with a newly graded paper (A preferred, but an A- will suffice, I’m a reasonable person). Or else.

Or else what, you ask? Or else let’s see what happens, Chris. You’re just gonna have to wait and see. And you don’t want to find out. Seriously, just give me the A. Or else.


Your Worst Nightmare, 

Julie Ravioli

P.S. Your mom says hi.

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