"The Ethicist" is Randy Cohen's long-running advice column in the New York Times. Each week, Gabriel Delahaye's "The Unethicist" will answer the same questions as "The Ethicist," with obvious differences.

I sent out many e-mails searching for a scalped ticket to a Michigan football game. A woman offered me one at a price well above face value. I agreed, but before we could meet to close the deal, I found a cheaper ticket and bought it. I think this was O.K. because there were three days until the game, so she had time to find another buyer. What's more, scalping is illegal and violates university policy. Agreed? I. M., Ann Arbor

Oh Jesus.

Look, I grew up in Ann Arbor, and I recognize that college football—and perhaps Michigan football in particular—is something that millions of people in this country believe has some kind of value. But as far as I'm concerned, you guys just made traffic miserable on Saturday afternoons when I wanted to drive to Target because they had the best deals on shampoo.

I fucking hate you people.

I really do. With your face/belly paint and your tailgating parties and your little hemorrhoid pillows for those cold metal bleachers. I hate your chest bumps and how you scream "Go Blue" at passing cars like you were just let out of the basement for the first time in weeks. I hate how you all have to wear matching Michigan sweatshirts, like some kind of fever dream of the Third Reich. I hate how you fill Pioneer High School's parking lot with RVs and tents like a gang of mentally retarded gypsies, traveling the land in search of the world's best potato salad. I hate your fervent excitement over something that is not only boring, but that is a fundamental contradiction. Please explain to me how it works that you are celebrating the physicality of the human body when it is operating at the top of its possible performance by eating cheese filled bratwurst and sucking down "The Beast"?

And it is so Ann Arbor of you to write in to an advice column with a pre-fabricated answer to your own question and ending with "agreed?" I'm sure you're reading this column right now with a slice of Zingerman's chocolate cherry bread and some artisanal Provencale butter from Whole Foods and thinking "Yup. I knew I was right. Now where did I put that question for Car Talk?"

At a friend's recommendation, I hired a contractor and paid in advance for some special-order items. When these did not show up on time and the contractor wouldn't give me a satisfactory explanation, my friend called her and said that she would not pay for work the contractor had done for her unless my items were delivered. They arrived the next day. Did my friend act ethically? Darren Katz, Atlanta

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Hi, I'm Darren Katz, and I have a problem!

Seriously, Darren, what is wrong with you people? Maybe if the internet had just been invented, I would understand, but Y2K has come and gone and we are still here, so now it is time to be careful with what kind of information we put in the national media. How is your wife, Lisa? How are things on Edison Gardens NE? DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION? It is called google, and it hates you. But you look like a nice guy, so I didn't republish your home or work phone numbers. I'll leave it to some commenter to do that.

This year has been pretty exciting for me, Darren, because the two-bedroom apartment near the highway that I share with a roommate has two bathrooms! Are the "special-order items" in question a four-pack of single-ply Marcal toilet paper and some White Rose smooth peanut butter? I'm just trying to relate to your situation, because right now all I'm hearing is "blah blah blah rich white person blah blah boo-hoo grumpy blah blah blah too much money for his own good."

As far as your question is concerned, what I want to know is where did you find the world's only female contractor, and why did you have to go crying to some girl when things didn't work out? I'm all for women being allowed to vote, I think they made a really strong case for that, but now it's time for you to be a man again. So pull your head out of your friend's vagina and go beat the shit out of someone until you get your imported Spanish tile or whatever the fuck.

Earlier: I See Ugly People