The Masterclass
Let's clear something up: she's not arguing with you. Arguing implies two sides. What she's doing is explaining why you're wrong at a speed your brain can actually process — which, frankly, is slower than she'd prefer, but she's a professional and she adapts to her audience.
Watch her work. The precision. The patience of someone defusing a bomb made of your bad opinions. Every point lands like a chess move. Every pause is calibrated to let the realization sink in. She's not raising her voice; she doesn't need to. Volume is for people who are losing.
Tuition Costs Your Dignity
This masterclass has exactly one lesson, and it is this: you were wrong, here is the complete inventory of how, and we will now go through it item by item until the lesson is fully absorbed. There are no prerequisites except having been confidently incorrect in the first place, which — let's be honest — you nailed.
Payment is due in dignity, collected incrementally with each "oh... yeah, okay" you mutter as another one of your points quietly disintegrates. By the end of the session, you'll be nodding along, fully educated, and somehow grateful for the experience. That's how good she is.
A Complete Disregard for Your Feelings
None of this is personal. That's the beautiful part. She would do this for anyone — a stranger, a friend, a telemarketer. The feelings are simply not part of the equation. Feelings don't change facts, and she has the facts alphabetized.
So the next time she's "explaining," don't call it arguing. Show some respect. You're not in a fight. You're in school.
Enrollment is always open, by the way. You don't sign up for her masterclass — you simply say something incorrect within earshot, and the curriculum finds you. Alumni describe the experience as humbling, thorough, and the reason I now look things up before saying them out loud. Five stars. Would be wrong again.
The Masterclass Curriculum
Enrollment is open for her world-famous masterclass, and the syllabus is a thing of beauty. Module one: "You Weren't Listening the First Time, So Now We Go Slower." Module two: "Let Me Draw You a Diagram You Won't Understand Either." Module three is just a thirty-minute pause where she stares at you until you arrive at the correct conclusion on your own — the Socratic method, but with more eyeliner.
There are no prerequisites, because she assumes you know nothing, and historically she's been right. Graduation requirements are simple: admit she was right all along. Most students fail this step repeatedly. She has infinite patience and a bottomless supply of "as I was saying."
Office Hours and Visiting Protocol
If you wish to consult the witch directly, observe the protocols. Do not approach before she's had her coffee — that's not office hours, that's a hazard zone. Bring your argument fully formed; half-baked takes will be dismantled in front of witnesses. And whatever you do, don't say "let me stop you right there." Nobody has ever successfully stopped her right there. The historical record is 0 for 4,000.
Alumni of her program report life-changing results. "I used to argue about everything," says one graduate. "Now I just say 'you're probably right' and save us both forty-five minutes. My blood pressure thanks her. My ego is still in recovery."