dear goofy, steve urkel looking indian dude in my accounting class,

every monday and wednesday night at 7pm, i sit in my assigned seat patiently, waiting for class to start.

every monday and wednesday night, you rush into class around 5 minutes late, and you shuffle to get your shit together as you sit down to the 2nd seat on my right.

every monday and wendesday night, the first thing you do when you sit down is look at me. and not just a casual glance; its always a lingering stare.

for the first couple weeks, i didn't really think much of it; i thought you were checking out the black chick that sits between us. but as the semester went by, it became evident when she was absent that you were actually staring at me.

what. the. fuck.

i see you at the corner of my eye, fucker. the awkwardness started to get to me, so i always turned to you and gave you the silent & casual "whats up" head nod. you nod back and then turn to look at the whiteboard.

but as class goes on, i see you at the corner of my eye glaring at me again.

what's your problem, mang? i already acknowledged your dorky presence with the head nod; there's no need to continue looking at me like that.

do you want to talk to me or something? if so, just say something, damnit!! its not rocket science!! i'm assuming your smart enough to figure that out by the nerdy look of your coke bottle glasses. but noooooo, you continue to just stare at me like i'm a celebrity or something. kinda flatter, but its creepy more than anything.

so what else could it be? do you have a crush on me? even if i was a chick, your little stare tactics would do nothing for me. write me a love letter or something if you like me. write me a love letter, so when you hand it to me and i read it, i'll have an excuse to kick fobby ghundu ass to the floor. yes, i will hit a guy with glasses.

lift up your skirt, grab your balls and say something to me, you damn queer.