text: Dear Vice President of Academic Affairs and Acting Dean of Arts and Sciences Colin Jarvis,
  
  First of all, thank you for your infinite patience with me as you all go through my interactive sabbatical report, against your express discouragement and disapproval.
  
  I know that I have not always been the most tractable of faculty, and you have been nothing but kind and fair to me, all jokes aside.
  
  You and I have had our disagreements, certainly, and you have come to believe (wrongly, I assure you) that I have done wrong. You believe things affecting your personal life, let us say. These rumors are not true. You know how rumors fly around this campus like flames through cheap wall insulation.
  
  Behold, I have in fact done the required and proper sabbatical paperwork, which I have submitted to you privately. It sits in your electronic inbox now as if by magic.
  
  In short, I spent the semester away reflecting and seeking to ensure that the disruptions of the past year do not repeat themselves. I have reflected. There was reflection.
  
  But I imagine your mind is made up about me already and my little words can't budge you. So go on then. This is an interactive narrative after all, even though the part devoted to you is the very least of it, with really just one big choice for you, lest I blow your mind with branching possibilities. You do, after all, hold your terminal degree in accounting.
  
  So make your one choice. Choose which official document you want written by me. Which letter best illustrates what you really think of me? Feel free to print out the one you like best. I will stand by it.
  
  > Gower's mistakenly forwarded admission of perversity, legally actionable
  Dear Natalie,
  
  Yes, I suppose you are right--I have been taking shameless, shameless advantage of my position, advantage of these students!
  
  Of course they are callow and vulnerable to the predations of a roguish genius like me with the proverbial and actual steel-rimmed glasses. Am I am a cave-troll or brutish ogre, seizing these knights and damosels from the Kingdom of Innocence to indoctrinate them into my bizarre cult, strange worship, and, yes, all right, Satanic rituals? I freely admit there is a good deal of truth there. I suppose we do draw runed circles on the floor and summon forth (in the name of all that is unholy) fallen angels and drowned spirits for the purpose of satisfying my dark masters.
  
  But of course, you are right, Natalie. I should stop, but the flesh is weak. When I think of all the illegal drugs and paper mill essays I have secured for them, the mad, masked, bacchanals I have presided over under the guise of "poetry readings" or "office hours," the grades I have blatantly traded for cash, unlicensed assault weapons, and skybox seating at our local stadia, I blush.
  
  I tell you all this, as my loving wife, because I know you will forgive me and keep this all secret. You would rather I did not murder and mulch. I understand this as an intellectual concept. I understand this as a matter of ethical theory. But everyone has to make choices in this life, and I suppose I have made a few questionable ones. At any rate, I suppose that's all I have to say. Nothing to be done.
  
  At any rate, I am looking forward to dinner tonight. Tacquitos with black beans and salsa verde sounds great.
  
  Love,
  
  your Gower
  
  P.S. Hope I don't accidentally mail this to Vice President of Academic Affairs and Acting Dean of Arts and Sciences Colin Jarvis by accident, haha.
  
  > Oh, good heavens, what an error to forward this to you!
  Colin, Colin, Colin. I trust that you spent a good deal of time reading that. You always were a slow reader.
  
  Your eyes lit up, no doubt, as all was confirmed. Yes, yes, this, you thought. This is the key to Gower's behavior. I always knew, I always suspected, indeed, I always hoped. But now!--that's your thought process. I switched the perspective there. I know that difficult literature always gives you a headache and an upset stomach.
  
  You read it again and eat your gluten free sandwich with a pickle and potato chips that is always left on the snack table expressly for you. You munch and joyfully ponder just how you write the letter to me and the rest of the faculty. It would be amusing to make it an interactive takedown of me, a fitting end, a choose-your-own scandal.
  
  But you are also poor at understanding your computer, Colin. You do not know what it means to click an .exe, and you certainly do not realize that even as we speak, your vice presidential computer is being infested with viruses, worms, trojans, greeks, rootkits, spyware, and, probably whooping cough.
  
  Promotions, firings, and grades are being released willy-nilly. Schedules are being randomly reorganized. Meetings are all being set for the same day, same time, same room. Private information is being emailed to the Board of Trustees. Every candidate who has ever interviewed for this school is being sent a thoughtful, crowd-sourced letter of hire, with a starting salary of $135,000, but payable in euros, just to make things a bit more confusing for you. Student health records are being shuffled and mailed to donors. The library has just been officially renamed the "Ring-a-ding-ding Center for Books, I Guess" and a press release has been sent out.
  
  And, sadly, I suppose this means that my sabbatical presentation is being wiped away as well. And so, my dear Colin, I suppose these particular words may never be read by you, as you bang on the side of your computer dimly, wondering why the lights are flickering (the electric company has been told they will no longer be paid) and why there is Beethoven blasting through the sound system (you're welcome).
  
  Oh, I wish I could be there with you, Colin. But I am driving far, far away where I will never be found, and this concludes my required Sabbatical Report before the full faculty.