Know basic Italian or reap the consequences, buddy
This quarter started how every quarter starts. Professors struggled to take attendance as they read off of a roster full of nightmarish names. With every new student, you could hear the tightening of a sphincter and the quivering of a voice, both belonging to a grown man with a doctorate who just can’t figure out what an “ñ” sounds like. With my pasta-esque last name, the first week is made up of me man-spreading with utter confidence in the front row, as I await the professor to mispronounce my name. This year, I was pushed too far.
“Olivia Loo-chee-knee-knee?” this schmuck said.
Loo? Chee? Nee? Nee? Twice? Huh? Who? Where did he pull the second “ni” from? The aforementioned sphincter?
I knew I had to take action. I stood up from my desk. Well, first, I said, “Here,” because I need that participation credit, and then I stood up from the desk. Infuriated, I ran to his office and found the keys to his Honda Civic. It had a keychain on it that said, “I love Transformers.” That was the final straw. I was going to steal his wife.
I drove to his house and it was not hard to find. It looked like something out of a Family Circus comic, or perhaps a Brady Bunch wet dream. There was a white picket fence, a golden retriever frollicking around and me, about to steal his wife.
I walked in the way any fox would: on four legs, holding a bunch of roses. She was a little off put by the four legs thing, so I stood up.
“Hey, girl,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Brianna,” she said. “It’s pronounced Bree-anne-uh, but whatever you say is fine.”
This bozo had wronged his own wife. She had been hypnotized into thinking she was a common Bree-aw-nuh. No way, toots.
“Oh, my sweet Brianna Banana, you don’t deserve to be disrespected like that,” I said.
After I put the period on that sentence, she was already completely naked.
We started our happy life together. It was just Brianna, me and a Honda Civic that once belonged to a man who now has to spoon his degree at night. So remember this, professors: If you’re going to mispronounce my name, make sure you cherish your spouse first.
Written by: Olivia Luchini — firstname.lastname@example.org
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)