He ended our class last night at 7:30. He concluded it flustered, irritated like a menopausal boarding house matron at the climax of her descent to her grave. The entire content of his rant was about his accomplishments as a scholar, his being a well-published academic, with an unbridled tone of his infallibility, and how the professor, whom my classmate stupidly mentioned taught him how to compile texts for his review of related literature, should not teach how to write an RRL because she does not publish, at least not that he knew of.
It was like hearing a shabby academic prima donna exalting his virtues in front of an impressionable, fanatical audience.
The performance however was found wanting in the area of taste. His bravado left an aftertaste that stubbornly sticks on the palate.
I was disgusted.