For a while I was convinced you were one of my smartass students, until that particular student was arrested for public indecency, and the pictures continued to appear in my box throughout the duration of his incarceration. Then I thought you might be the new adjunct woman with the huge glasses and the deviant grimace who hardly looks up when she’s walking to her classroom. But then, she couldn't possibly appreciate the sensitivity of those delicate Asian American vaginas you highlighted last month, nor those elephantine Peruvian penises you so unabashedly left stacked on top of my students’ midterm papers.
Perhaps you’re trying to scare me out of the department because you don’t feel like I share a proper level of adoration for Foucault, or a strong enough Marxist leaning. Or perhaps you simply enjoy hassling part-time lecturers. Whatever your reasoning, I want you to know that I am keeping every single picture you’ ve put in my box. I’m collecting them into a scrapbook, which I intend to present at the next department meeting. If you do not wish to be called out publicly, then you should come forward now, declare yourself, and come clean (so to speak). If you choose to disclose your identity to me privately, then I won’t take this to the Chair, I won’t involve the University Judiciary, and I won’t tell anyone else about this matter.
In fact, the more I think about it the more I think I’d like to meet you. Granted, I was initially disgusted, especially when I considered you might be one of those creepy Classics professors; but the images you’ve been leaving lately (such as those tantalizing full-breasted Native American women whipping those overweight Caucasian men with sopping wet American flags) leads me to believe we share a similar Postcolonial sensibility.
I am therefore intrigued.
Would you be interested in starting a colloquium dedicated to Postcolonial sexual representations?
Let me know,