~ Can You Feel My Pain ~

I H.A.T.E tutorials with a capital F.
Tutors
They're a bore, a pain. 2 hour sessions of nonsensical ramblings by balding, porkbellied professors with bad breadth. They drone on and on in monotone, lulling u to sleep. As i cling on desperately to the last shreds of consciousness, one stark question stares me in the face: "WHY THE ___k AM I ___king HERE WASTING MY ____king TIME!"
Tutorial Mates
I take a look around the room. 'My My', i think to myself, 'its discovery channel' : Walkng With Dinosaurs! How, Why, When, Where did NTU Accountancy get the reputation of having the prettiest girls? Pretty my foot. My ass. My All-the-rest-of-my-anatomy-that-offends. One glance around the cold tutorial room made me even colder and suddenly, being crucifed and burnt in a blazing fire seemed a nice, warm and welcoming alternative than staying a second more in Jurassic park.
Lessons
Saturday. Marketing Tutorial. Crawl, Climb, Tumble out of bed and drag my heavy body, heart and soul to class at ____king 8.30A.M. Pisses me off right from the start. Deep breadths, Alex. It would be an interesting lesson i tried to console myself as i stepped into the class. My Jaw dropped. My eyes bulged. My veins protruded. HALF THE _____KING CLASS WAS BANGLAH. Anger with a magnitude and intensity I can only describe as Titanic, Galactic, Gargantuan, Behemothic welled up and it was all i could do to resist screaming like a mad man into the room and impaling each and every nigger with a deliciously sharp stake. Thank god my group was the only group without a single nigger, else not only would violent objections be raised, violence itself would happily join the party. 2 hours of endurance, murmurred cursing and short intakes of breadths marked the end of my first Marketing tutorial.

CAN U FEEL MY PAIN????