You have befouled the profession of teaching by accepting not only one but two Teacher of the Year awards despite not speaking a word of the foreign language you purport to teach. Like the storied predators of yesteryear, Will, you pick only the most vulnerable students to favor while actively neglecting the others. Like that gross kid with the dreadlocks, or that poor Irish idiot Rory. Or the black dancer, whose name none of us remember because you rode his back to a win at sectionals, and then promptly ignored him into oblivion. You positively worship a student if they can so much as carry a tune, and yet you don't know a single name of the only true musical geniuses in that choir room... The band!... Who have demonstrated, time and again, that they can, at the drop of a hat, play literally any song you can name, and still, you treat them like so much nameless human garbage. Your bizarre psycho-sexual obsession with that glee club was disturbing from the first moment you stalked a nude student in the showers. You know, I'm honestly surprised you didn't re-enact what was clearly the formative event of your own teenage years, and Sandusky the poor kid right there and then. Oh, and I think those absorbent sweater vests actually hide the fact that you lactate every time you give one of your excruciatingly condescending pep talks. Your charms wore off a long time ago, William... somewhere around Bieber Week. So why don't you take your washboard abs and your washboard forehead, get the hell out of my office.
So true