Vitriol.

Allow me a passive-aggressive rant. 

I like almost all of my classmates, but to the few that really get on my nerves, this is what I want to say and don't.
  

The Cruncher

Well, at least you never fail to surprise me. Trying to guess what crunchy semi-food item you're going to pull out of that reusable Ziploc bag every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning to complement your thermos of Crystal Light adds an element of sickening uncertainty to my otherwise you-less day. Lately, you seem to prefer Kashi bars, but I'll never forget the time you munched through a Tupperware container of uncooked popcorn kernels. The dried edamame debacle was similarly memorable, but only because you kept choking on it while trying to make in-class comments. Let me be the first of many who would like to inform you that our class is not your personal snack hour. If you're hypoglycemic, show us a doctor's note and I'm sure we'll all chip in to buy you a lifetime supply of quiet food items that won't make us cringe every time you snap your horsey teeth.

The Loud and Vacuous

Despite vain attempts to act like you know everything, you're always totally wrong. It's laughable; you try so hard to be first to answer every question loudly (and incorrectly) and then, when corrected, invariably come back with some form of, "Ohhh--yeah, oh, yeah, I knew that" when you very obviously did not (and in all likelihood still do not). Your mediocrity is no secret (measured objectively in terms of grades and subjectively in terms of verbal acuity), but that isn't what makes you one of my pet peeves. It's your pathetic and yet continually self-vaunting attitude that sets me (and everyone else) on edge. You so desperately want to be taken as a rock star, but you're blind to the fact that without putting in the effort required for real success you'll never make it out of your basement. Tell me, do you get some kind of thrill out of being constantly, vocally wrong, or does your abandoned ditch of a mental wasteland run so deep that you seriously can't comprehend the level of your own obnoxiousness?

The Fawner

Your eyes light up when I walk in, and mine roll back in my head. Great; you've saved me a seat again in my favorite place where I can read without paying attention (as you know the class we share is my least favorite). You're textbook, kid, and you know the drill: you eagerly ask for my opinion about some topic you've obviously just researched (despite my perpetual reticence, you've memorized my political interests); I dismantle your facade with a tight-lipped smile and a few pointed questions I know you can't answer; you give me some self-effacing compliment to which I barely respond. This routine never seems to discourage you, so it's time for you to face facts: Read my vibes. I'm not going to like you. Stop trying. A tip? If you really want my respect, stop complimenting me. It only makes you sound weak in comparison.