[ WP ] The tale of a man who always knows precisely the wrong thing to say .

The principal peered up from his spectacles at the teenager seated across his desk. The twelfth grader had made himself very comfortable, leaning against the chair. He'd taken off his hoodie and thrown it over his shirt as a blanket. 
 
 `` Do you know why you're here, Nelson?'' said Mr. Dilly. 
 
 Nelson stuffed his hands into the pocket of his jeans. He rested both feet on Mr. Dilly's desk. `` Of course I know why I'm here, Rasey. I spat in my teacher's face.'' 
 
 Mr. Dilly turned beet red. He did not appreciate being called by his first name. `` And what were your reasons for doing that?'' 
 
 `` Because she is bitchier than a literal bitch.'' Nelson shrugged exaggeratedly, lifting up his palms in helpless defence. `` Her boobs look like oversized sculptures of milk-spouting rats. Her breath smells like human flesh decomposing under acidic conditions. Her eyes --'' 
 
 `` Excuse me? That is entirely inappropriate.'' 
 
 `` Her eyes are abysmal like two large sinkholes, where the souls of miscarried babies are buried. Especially when she looks at me in that disapproving way. I can almost hear the infantile screams.'' 
 
 Mr. Dilly frowned. He had never experienced such blatant, unfiltered respect. `` I'm going to have to send for your parents. You better watch your language, young man.'' 
 
 `` My language happens to be as intangible as Mr. Dilly's brain, who appears not to understand the definition of the word'watch'.'' 
 
 Mr. Dilly said not a word. He reached for his phone. 
 
 `` Please do not call my parents,'' said Nelson. 
 
 The principal raised an eyebrow, amused. Was the insolent teenager showing signs of weakness? 
 
 `` My parents would rather sample all the Medieval methods of torture than engage with a man with fewer IQ points than the number of women he slept with.''
