Dear Tween Boy Sitting Behind Me At Fido On A Friday Night,

Please stop screeching, singing in a falsetto voice, and pretending you are sexually attracted to women. I'm trying to work over here. If the giant amount of papers spilled out in front of me didn't clue you in...I'm kind of a big deal. Ok, not really. But more of a big deal than someone whose claim to fame is probably being Clay Aiken's biggest fan. I have a massive research report due in three days and I really don't have time to waste listening to you say "OH-MY-GOYDDDD!" one more time.

Go Tween Out Somewhere Else,

P.S. I'm using the term 'tween' loosely considering you are actually probably about 20 years old.

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