Assignment 10- Ian Schaeffer

My seatmate. A slimy furball by the name of Victor Paul MacKinnon Allison. God may have blessed this lad with a rigid jawline, but this despicable Irish potato-lover was not among Darwin's naturally selected. To start, the boy's coarse neck hair is nauseating, inducing trauma that frequently triggers violent shivering simply by cursing the optic stems with its greasy, repulsive presence. His sport of choice- surprisingly not polo or croquet as his abhorrent yet consistently present plethora of sweaters would indicate-is lacrosse, a respectable game. But the sight of Victor stumbling around the field with the coordination of a blind baby calf is utterly embarrassing to real sportsmans. I am forced to characterize victor allison as a shade of eburnean, not because the hue holds any substantial connection to him, but rather because absolutely nobody cares that this color even exists. I am also now seeing that the prompt reads "say genuinely nice things" about my compatriot, so I guess I'll concede that Victor clings on to a small right for respect, which forces me to tolerate his presence.