Oxidized Loveletter
May 29, 2003
Scott Pacer never looked once at me. Though we shared 2 design classes and a grape Slurpee, (I swilled the last ounce or so after he had discarded it) the fuckin' "Rock Star" gave me nary the time of day.
All will be forgiven Scott, if you will just sing the chorus to EMBOLUS into my answering machine once for old times' sake. My digits are: 1-800 EAT POOP.
Kidding aside, you had better apologise or I'll stick another hot pin in the groin of the Voodoo doll which bears your uncanny likeness.
Sweat Dreams! Weirdo!