Dear Saint Louis...

I understand that I didn't sacrifice enough baby bunnies earlier tonight to thank you for wireless internet.

I AM TEH SORRIEZ.
I was a fetal ball on the couch. I couldn't move? Because of last night? That trick? really? fuck you, Saint Louis, now I'm afraid of the bath tub at night until we hack out that wall and figure out why the sewage lines are busted because it smellz like ass and man piss and it's not the toilet because I scrubbed it and it's not the sink because I scrubbed it and it's not the bathtub because I scrubbed it and we're throwing out the molding shower curtains because I insisted. and so I go outside and hide from the motion detector light and I piss in the bushes. 'Cause if 5 dogs do it all damn day long? Y'know, it'll be fine.

I pretend it's Pennsic.

It's a game we play.

But to remove, by MAJICKS most foul, black and unsettling EVERY SINGLE BRAND AND EVERY SINGLE FLAVOR AND type and style of ginger ale to be found on south fucking grand boulevard?

I THINK THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR.

just thought you should know.

with love,

Pasqualina.