You Foul, Foul Man

You managed to stink up the computer lab during my class, a class that you already took twice before and really didn't need to take again. By your own admission, you didn't learn anything new. Then you managed to stink up the study room you used after the class to the point where no one else can use it until it has been properly fumigated. Others are canceling their reservations! I can barely approach the public printer, because the cloud of stench you left there while waiting for your printouts is still hovering around it like a swarm of gnats by a lake. Every time you walk by to get a drink of water, a cloud of foulness follows in your wake.

For the love of Dewey, please don't stop and talk to me about your genealogy research or complain about the pencil you found on the floor (and how someone might slip on said pencil and injure themselves and the world would come to a horrific end) or how the Internet changes too quickly or any other thing that I couldn't care less about, as next time I just might pass out from your funk.

And really, it doesn't help that every time you put your right foot down, your shoe farts.