Love, hate, and pharmaceutical contraception

I can never decide whether I love or hate my English teacher. I think he loves himself enough that any more admiration would be completely superfluous. He seems to take for granted that we all think he is just the coolest guy ever. He loves me, as every English teacher I've had since the beginning of time has. I just pull things out of my ass, and they fall all over themselves. I wrote a poem in about ten minutes than made my mother cry, and that she didn't stop talking about for a week. Which I would publish right here, except it would invariably end up in the wrong hands.
Flossmoor is a self-important, overrated, nauseating place. I can't stand the cute little town I grew up in. On a scale from one to freedom-hating terrorist, how unAmerican does this make me?