I was going to write an extra special whatever-the-hell-this-blog-is-named about going to get a book signed with my cute, lovable but totally underage (unless you’re in Canada) sister. The book in question is made-up of Harry Potter Book 7 predictions and horrible puns that would make everyone’s favorite editor weep (or experience joygasms). I even wrote some notes and made some doodles when a certain someone threatened to make a collage of my ass.
So you can thank him for old-school letter format.
Jerk.
Dear Honey Bear,
I appreciate the amount of time you have spent adoring whatever physical aspect of me you could see with the naked eye. I know that many of the things you say and/or do are to ease into my good graces for some sweet, sweet candy, Sugar Lumpkins.
I take great pride in knowing that you can’t retro-con your statements around me.
Like when you started talking about how wonderful my derrière is. (I agree, Splenda Teddy Grahams; my derrière is a wonderful work of art and should only be held in the most flattering of frames.) Unfortunately you said that my butt was in the top ten. You and I both know that that kind of statement will only lead to me asking questions about who is in the top ten?
You get bonus points for saying that I was number 2, regardless of the shit factor.
Of course, my Honey Bunches of Oats with Raisins, trying to rectify telling me who number one is (even though she is not considered competition due to her impending marital status and the fact that she lives in the middle of nowhere) by threatening me with ass collage wasn’t what I, nor the rest of the female race, was expecting.
Especially since you have only picture of my rear-end.
For the sake of having my posterior not be a focal talking point at a volunteer center, I am going to have to ask you to take down the desktop wallpaper made entirely of the one picture of my pretty little booty.
Sincerely,
Molasses Munchkin
Labels: I thought the letters were dead, jerk, sweetner + cute = vomit