Ahhh. Guinness.

Cafe Royale on a Sunday.

I only made it through today because I kept reminding myself that I'd already worked well over 40 hours this week, and even though I must have spent fifteen-bucks-on-coffee today, I was still making twenty-bucks-an-hour. Oh what humans will do for money (speaking of, if anyone has $400, a half rack of PBR and wants to fly my wife down here...).

I had something very important to say earlier...OH! Right.

Apparently it's open letter time, since some people want to copy me. Why not everyone? Roll call bitches: I wanna see your open letters.


Here, just for shits and giggles, I'll do another one.

An Open Letter To All Y'all Bitches

Y'all be Bullshit. I'm-a-fuckin kill all y'all 'cause Aaron Keene's phone be pissin' me the fuck off and Counts and his goddamn alarm and shit. Whateva. Bitch, I was motha fuckin' wrecked at work today an' fuckin' Union Strizzeet be pissin' me the fuck off an' all those bitches be triflin'. Return this, bitch. Yo' fuckin' tiny ass needs ta chickety-check yo'self before I bust up yo' phony ass grill. Bitch got mo' veneers than a '70's kitchen. Bitch.


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