I am writing to inform you that you take yourself far too seriously for your own good. Also, the volume of your conversation - given the subject matter - is somewhat alarming. I suggest you cool your jets, unless having a brain aneurism is your ultimate goal.
While I commend you for your rebellious nature and undeniable wit, I'm presently trying to crank out 500 words for your reading pleasure, and your description of Friday's drunkscapades is vile and unnerving. I'm sure the subject of your colorful anecdote would be incredibly pleased to know that all of Milne Library is officially aware of her easily circumvented morals.
On the flip side, I am thoroughly pleased to inform you that the friend you're relaying this information to isn't taking you seriously in the least bit, and neither am I. In fact, I'm fairly certain that you're trying to pass off an episode of "Jersey Shore" as your life, and you're not even bothering to put much of a creative spin on it. Color me unimpressed. Cheers!
I'm presently debating taping this note to his laptop while he's in the bathroom, but I think I'll just save it for when it comes out in print. And then I'll highlight it and tape the entire paper to his laptop. Take that!
I suppose I'm being a little cruel by poking fun at him publicly. Unfortunately, I can't bring myself to be too bothered by this. This is a trend I'm seeing more and more in the library, and I cannot help but wonder where it came from. When I was in high school, the sanctity of library quietness was viciously protected by a group of terrifying librarians who'd jump at the chance to yell at you for sneezing too loudly.
Not that this was particularly productive, as you spent half of your time researching and the other half worrying that you were thinking too loudly, but I certainly managed to get a lot more done there. Now that I've been in college for two years, I've come to see libraries as a place to go if you want either a) coffee or b) to find a party to crash. Last time I checked, neither of those options is overwhelmingly academic.
To be fair, I'm sure this is partly the result of students having only one comfortable place for both studiousness and chatting in a decent café. If the two were separated and if the library were to be more diligently policed, I'm certain that I'd be able to hear myself think more frequently.
Unfortunately, this is not the case and we have to make use of what we have, even if "what we have" is an overcrowded space frequently populated by people who have not evolved emotionally to the point where their knuckles no longer drag on the ground.
Hey! Could you stop dragging her by the braids long enough to pick up your club and that dead rabbit? Thanks!