( 10:40 PM )
The following handwritten note was found folded like an origami fish on the steps of McKinley Hall:
Dear Lisa,
Maybe ‘cause it’s more of a marketing plan than reality entertainment, but somehow I didn’t feel the least bit guilty eating an entire bag of chips watching morbidly obese people struggling to lose weight on The Fattest Loser. Oh yeah that reminds me, for some reason my New Orleans marathon has been changed to a triathlon, and damn girl, your apartment really smells like tuna fish. That isn’t your chicken of the sea now is it? You know, that time of the month? When it’s on sale I mean. Wait are you thinking your puss smells bad? I’m sure your cat smells fine—maybe it’s those open cans of that off-brand tuna I left under your bed that did it.
Keep your mother of pearls hanging,
Kristin
Song of the Day:
“Maggie May” Faces 1971
::
0 comments
|
