I listen to this while I do homework for his class lol

His class is too hard.

I could type anybody's name into the author section of this comment and it would seem just as legit as if I were actually who I said I were. Luckily for you, I am who I say I am, so there is no need for corn-fusion. Unless there is. If only there were some sort of catch-phrase that could easily identify me as myself to thereby remove all doubt from your mind. Then and only then could you truly be sure of the identity of the one person, or at least the one at the moment, who's unverified identity is most pressing to you. What? You've stopped caring? Good for you, cause this was going nowhere slowly. Well plaid. And well played. Because your plaid can never be too well. Yeah, I do like puns. So what? PUN AT ME BRO!! I'm, umm... I'm done here. I don't know why I'm still here. And frankly, I hope this comment section has a character limit and has therefore at least cut out most of my rant about nothing. And I can see the fact that you are still able to read this means the above scenario didn't happen, which sucks butt because it was a pretty good scenario. I don't even know what I've stumbled upon just by googling Kupe's name. I just wanted to find his email address, so I could send him a draft of some screenplays I wrote for my application to the University of Southern California's School for Cinematic Arts. One's called Saving San Francisco, and the other's called Father Figurines. Both are truly remarkable, and by remarkable I mean that they are likely to be marked up again if I had to turn them in to Kupe a second time because Kupe is a three-to-four drafts kind of person. And as I'm typing this I am listening to the Kupe-cumber's awesome singing skillz. Geez, dude. You sound so much different outside of class and inside my computer. Like a hippie Queen or something. Okay, that's a bit of a stretch, but just a little. You know who I think sounds a lot like Freddie Mercury? That guy from Fun. Like, dead on, man. It's freaky, but in a good way. Speaking of dead guys living vicariously through the vocals of living guys, yet only tangentially related to dead guys living vicariously through the vocals of living guys, did you know that Train sang Drops of Jupiter? I know exactly what you're thinking: Who's Train? What's Drops of Jupiter? Most importantly, who are you? You're still reading through this to only get to the bottom so you can read my name and finally find out who wrote this, but riddle me this, huh? What if I anticipate that you will skip the rest of this never-ending rant (never-ending rant? gosh darnit, I don't wanna type forever) so yeah, what if I anticipate that thing I said you'd do, and change my name, so you won't REALLY know who I am? Hmm? I'm doing it right now, don't even try to stop me. Here I go. Aaaaaand.... done! I antipicipitated your every move exactly zero moves before you moved the moved that indicated it was my turn to move! I hit the battleship and all your dominoes will fall like a house of cards. Checkmate. You... you seriously stuck around this whole time. Or did you just glance at this section since it's the third to last sentence in the comment? Well, if my penultimate statement doesn't clue you in to my identity, and neither does my name at the very bottom of this, maybe the class slogan from 2012-2013, a classic SpongeBob reference of course, will enlighten you. "I've got Double Entry Diarrhea!"

Lolz this is my main squeeze l0ve him

this man is my teacher, and he plays guitar all the time in class