Hey, little dude. It’s me, your assistant professor in his mid-thirties, the one with the cool bolo tie. I’m just writing up this quick little email to let you know that I’m super young and relatable.
I’m you in five years, or maybe twelve. I sign my emails with my initials to let you know I’m cool. I even write in exclusively lowercase. This is my attempt to not just eschew the rules of capitalization but mock them. I also wanted to say that I know who Lil Peep was, and that I was very sad when he died.
We’re intellectual brethren, you, my student and my lifeline to youthfulness, and I. I sign my emails with “cheers!” to subtly imply the drinking alcohol in a merry fashion, and activity that all the cool kids like us do. I’ve even hinted once or thrice at the time I took a shot of NyQuil while on antibiotics, or when I got super close to trying that old green broad Mary Jane. Between us, I knew somebody who once sniffed some cocaine. I’m pretty much a #BernieBro, even though I’m voting for Klobuchar.
Sure, my birth year indicates that I am technically Gen X, but I feel more like a Gen Z in my heart.
Unlike my pretentious TAs who use words like “dichotomous” and “postmodern” in their emails, I think big words are stupid and dumb. Whether I’m emailing Uber Eats’ customer support team or reminding you to submit that chill fifteen-page paper I assigned you, I only use one-syllable words like “funk,” “sheep’s wool,” and “dumb cunt.” That’s true even when I’m IMing about the department fleecers in Pig Latin, just like you young bucks do. Ucksay ymay ickday, Susan.
Anyway, I just wanted to clarify that I am a really cool and with-it, in case my emails with subject line SUP BRAH?! didn’t make that clear already. I’m really one of you guys, just a horny dude trying to find his way in the world with all the big mean adults trying to cramp my vibe.
I will never get crow’s feet or not use the F-word, and I will also never die.
