To: The local rock radio station
Ok, I think it’s official now. I’ve heard “The Black Parade” often enough for one lifetime. Time for you to find another song to overplay till I automatically switch stations on hearing its first few bars.
To: The great toe on my right foot
Look, it’s been, what, three years since I broke your neighbour doing judo? I mean, for cryin’ out loud, once he healed up, I never heard another peep out of him. You weren’t even broken—just jammed back a bit. I think it’s time you stopped getting it in your mind (whatever a toe has that passes for a mind, that is) to cause me pain.
Seriously. How long are you gonna keep this up, anyway? What? The rest of my life. Not cool, man. Not remotely cool.
Ok, it’s time to write a few more chapters in Everything that never happened. By the time Thursday rolls around, I’d like us to be at Chapter 24, please. If not further along than that, even.
That means no Star Wars Lego till you’ve got another thousand words tomorrow night, bucko. Trust me. I’m doing this for your own good.
Don’t you give me that look, Patrick.