Fury -- a sketch

Students in his classes picked the wrong week to slack off. When they sauntered in without rough drafts or assignments due, he snapped, ripping thyem with mockery, sarcasm, reading of riot acts, rolling eyes, dagger stares, notes scrawled in the notebook, straining neck muscles, testy challenges and looks of diffused disgust. While they read rough drafts, he would stare at the clock, making it melt and fold like a surreal Dali. In one class, he kicked a kid out of class for making excuses.
"I left my rough draft in my room."
"Go get it."
Disbelieving look.
"Go get it!"
Defensive and peeved. "I can't. It's back at my house."
"Just leave. Go! Get out of here!" The kid got up, whispering an apology.
No arguing, no excuses, no lies, he thought. Just get the hell out of my sight. I cannot deal with you today. This week of all weeks, I'm not swallowing your horseshit. He was daring anyone within eye-shot to fuck with him, staring down passing cars, sizing up people standing in line, not moving out of people's way. And you know what? The anger felt good. It wasn't as if it wasn't warranted. It was. They were derelict and deserved it. It is the time in the semester when the students start to fade and sink to new depths of intellectual apathy. And this week, he wasn't in the mood to hide or pretend. Those students who came to class and did the work he treated with his typical gentleman's touch, even the grinning, giddy Bush supporters. But anyone with a whiff of Boobus Americanus about them was not gaining sympathy this week. No. This was not business as usual. Usually, if he lost it like this, he'd be feeling guilty and self-conscious. Not this week. This outbreak was a long time coming, and the timing was appropriate. Blue fury, blue moods from a blue part of a blue state.
Next week he would get it under control and begin teaching them dutifully how to research facts and construct rational arguments. As if that's going to get them anywhere in life. As if that will make them rich and powerful and famous. As if the whole apparatus of media, politics, and religion weren't a giant machine engineered to mangle rational thought. Maybe I should show up in clown makeup, he thought. Maybe a tin horn and a rubber nose.