But you my friend are a professional asshole. A thoroughbred of incalculable irrationality. Everything that is wrong with my nation. You are helpless, yet you have millions convinced that you are fabulous at everything, and more over, a hell of a fine role model. Video game, cereal box, television, radio. Starbucks, getting your jet blown 30,000 feet above the crust. You are rarely late, and always smiling. Though, we could give a fuck, unless you say "Hi". Fit, self aware, well dressed, a contributor to third world charities and children of war re-education (COWRE). I even read last week that you'd given your kidney away to a blind ten year old Peruvian junky simply because Jesus told you too. Can you dance? Damn Skippy! When I beheld you last year doing Hamlet at some bug invested Canadian festival? I wept and so did my soft-drink. And right up to the point where I asked you for possible career guidance to which you then replied "Don't hire any one taller or smarter than you, and never fuck an Asian in Asia." I had even started to get into combing my hair like yours, but blue (Because I'm an individual). I think you should look up more. It will help take your mind off of that botched penis enlargement you bought yourself for Christmas. You were my idol. You were my star. You helped me conceive that I could I have more ridiculous amounts of financial Hygiene than 'thee' Tony Robbins having lunch with 'thee' Martha Stewart on 'thee' Fire Island. Shit, scratch Martha due to impending Ineligibility issues. Instead, make that David Gest. Shit, shine him too, he's busy with face injections for his chronic ass pain (Placebo health care plan with complimentary reverse psychology)and writing his book based on the only Homosexual still living that waited too long to come out of the closet. Because of all that Prada foot Wear and baseboard mirrors with automatic zoom. So let's make it Tom Arnold. Wait, anyone that Spends that much time blowing smoke for over paid jocks is obviously way too busy doing important functions for all of mankind. Basically, reminding me that my new bidet needs some warm attention while I scan for more important media sources. Such as "Field and Stream", and "Vogue." {I have no problem showing my fellow NRA members that there's nothing wrong with wearing hot pink Isotoners while tailing Buck to kill). Okay, where was I? Ah yes, coupling Tony (The glint) Robbins with a date for lunch that more accurately describes (metaphorically) just how much faith you had led me to believe, I too, was capable of obtaining by merely exploiting every last beautiful healthy cell left in my body for no better reason other than "Its been my dream for as long as I can vaguely remember" Yeah, Martin Luther King Jr. had one too. When I do finally get this goddamn time-machine I purchased from that ten year old who ran an ad in the 'miscellaneous classifieds' of "Popular Mechanics". Which, coincidentally, I stumbled upon while on my special friends Bidet last year (yours). I'm going to go back in time to the day That writer, what was his name? Oh, Samuel Clemons Gave Siegfried (Jew entrepreneur, like that's a shocker) a more suitable name for the strong man in his new traveling act called "The show business". While sitting next to one another on a train going through Eugene, Oregon. Clemmons said, "Call him Sambo", and you know what? They did. Well, to be as brief as possible? I would poison them all in order to see what you'd be when I came back to the future. Odds are, old white Rice in a Chinese take out container eagerly waiting, and still totally fucking able to spoil someone's Appetite with a mere squeeze of the hand on your box in the fridge. The next time I see you in my TV? There you'll stay. Conversing with my floating gold fish (Vanna) On a perfectly ignored and totally ineffective snowy static mute.