Contemplating a Murder...

Like a premiering rainy cloud, this individual came up to me whilst I was quietly sitting at the food-splattered dinner hall table with a couple of ‘friends’, my stomach upturning at the thought of just how superficial their conversation was.
Anyway, this individual was, of course, wearing a normal suit which is the basic dress code for my college. He also wore a grin on his face which at first glance, expressed a person you could have a nice football-related conversation with but anything beyond that is unattainable.

He came up to me and, thrusting his Joker-style smile in my face, he said:
‘You look like a teacher, you seriously do. No offence, yeah.’
I certainly did not have the pleasure of knowing him personally and by his words, you should be able to sense the irony of the word pleasure here.
I was suddenly extremely annoyed for some reason and it was obvious to me that I could not hide it, so I did something I was not supposed to do. I spoke:

‘Can I have the word, now? Thanks. Well, you can laugh as much as your lips can stretch but ironically, I see no reason for that.
I may look like a ‘teacher’ and I thank you for sharing your opinion with me.
The thing is however, the only person who is laughing right now is Satan himself. And no, I don’t mean you as being evil.
What I sinisterly mean is that whilst I may look like a ‘teacher’, I consider this a compliment because compared to how you look like (he actually looked like a not-quite-muscular rugby player, from head to toe. Picture England rugby captain Martin Johnson but take away the body and ‘charm’) I am safe to say that if there is a person whose facial appearance is to be a successful incarnate of an old car tyre, you would be it. If homo sapiens were to be created in an immoderate, mass-production line in a downtown factory, you would have millions of twin brothers following your every move.
Your looks can only be conveyed by the ever so slightly underestimated but nonetheless broadly used words to portray a human non-entity. No offence.’

My ‘friends’ listened intently throughout the duration of my damning monologue and the look on their faces disclosed a dropped-jaw astonishment.
Satan was laughing behind my back. I don’t regret my words but I wish I wouldn’t have to say something similar ever again. I felt like Melvin Udall from As Good As It Gets and like him, I didn’t particularly enjoy the series of eloquent abuse though I uttered them with a passion of virtual malignity.
Understandably, the individual’s smile vanished instantly but he said nothing more.
Initiating a reactionary succession of ugly insults against me would only have revealed his acceptance of the facts I had just brought to light. Me and now him knew the truth.

He went back to his table, contemplating a murder.