The following handwritten letter was found crumpled up on marble steps of McKinley Hall:

Dear Lisa,

Oh my god, I’m so freaking sick. I knew I shouldn’t have licked the turnstiles at Grand Central Station and stuck my bare eyeballs on infected needles left behind from junkie prostitutes, but shit girl, I just couldn’t help myself. So now I’ve been leaking this putrid, greenish-yellow mucus out of my chaffed nose and have hocked-up tons of sticky gelatinous phlegm balls, which of course I’ve been depositing in the lone margarine container in the fridge. Uh, I told you that before, right? Because I know about your experimental all-margarine and saltine crackers diet. Only gained six pounds and a repulsive case of snot scabies, huh? Good for you! And yeah, sorry about the microwave. I thought you had one of those new Energy Star fuckulicious microwaves that can melt anvils and heat up magnetized tin foil balls made of steel iron ore. Guess not.

Is your ferret shitting in my socks again? Oh right, he died months ago. What gives?

Kristin

Song of the Day:

The Kooks, “Come On Down"