I hear you’re trying to crash the party. And by party, I mean: the Tampa Bay Area. I hear you’re thinking of doing this somewhere around noon on Friday the 13th. Smooth, Charley, very smooth. And by smooth, I mean: you stupid twatface, get away from Florida.
Look, I know you might think I’m okay with this. Well, not okay, because I’m not PURE evil, but perhaps you’re under the misguided impression that my reaction would be noncommital at best. After all, you read my blog, right? You’ve seen me slam the state of Florida as being “the wang of America” and “unfit for intelligent consumption”. You’re dead wrong, Charley.
I only know two kinds of people in Florida, Charley. No, not steers and queers, shut up, you assface. The two kinds of people in Florida are: Exes, and Brother(s).
Perhaps you’re misinformed about my relations to exes, Charley. I have a fair amount of exes, cutting a hurricane-like swathe through the rougher sex like I’ve done. But I like my exes, Charley. With the exception of two or three, I’m in vague to frequent contact with all of them. And while one of my Florida Exes isn’t on my speed dial, he’s not a bad guy and I’d certainly think it wise he remain alive. The other Ex, Charley, is a good friend of mine. And he’s a skinny guy, you wind-blowing little shit, so you could probably lift him off the ground and make tree-fodder of him (no offense, dear). And I’d like him to stay mostly on the ground, please.
Then there’s my brother, Charley, you wave-swelling bitchypoo. And I really like him. And right now, he’s in a car driving the way our mamma taught us (fast) away from your stupid face. He has a nice house, Charley. There isn’t one part of that house I’m going to let you get away with munching on. So you’d better just steer clear of his house.
Do you get what I’m saying, Charley? I am one mean stiletto-wielding curse-screaming bat-waving little woman. And as much as I’ve maligned Florida in the past, there happen to be people there now who could use my violent threats against your person.
So stay the fuck away from Florida, Charley. Or else I’m going to have to take my troika, my baseball bat, and my ATTITUDE down there, and show you what a force of nature REALLY LOOKS LIKE.
Love,
Krissa