There is a red light flashing in professor Albert Ponce's cubby-sized office. The light comes from an old-fashioned answering machine.
Lately, he doesn't like to listen to the messages by himself. When he presses play, it's obvious why:
"Albert Ponce, you are a piece of s*** f****** gutter slug that needs his neck snapped, OK? Call me if you need me. I'll do it for ya."
"F****** race-baiting f****** piece of trash."