A letter to a devil
Dear devil wine makers,
As I begin to write this, I am not sure if this is a fan letter or a letter of complaint. All I know is that your wine made me get drunk, and I fell on my ass.
It was all going so well last night at Brad's pink house birthday party. Booze was flowing, conversation abounded, and asses were grabbed and tested for their firmness quality. I think it was a perfect way to welcome Brad's 34th year on the pretty planet.
The night turned remotely grim, however, when your wine, which I had been drinking penty of, helped contribute to my lack of skill when walking on patches of ice. As we ran to the cab to head downtown for the goth night's 80s party, I slipped and fell directly on my ass. However, being the drunk genius I am, I tried to catch myself. Instead, I landed my entire body weight on my left hand and right wrist. Ouch!
Today, I can barely grip anything. You should have seen me tried to grab a cup of coffee at T-Ho's. How embarassing to whince in pain as the T-Ho's girl hands you a double-double. You have no idea how painful typing this is, too. I am thinking I need to drink more of your product to forget this ordeal, but I don't think I could actually open another bottle, because I am remotely debilitated at the moment.
There were other things you made me do, as well. I briefly mentioned the ass grabbing at the beginning of this. You know the devil wine made me do it. The contest where we felt and rubbed hairy bellies and bare asses was also your idea. I wonder if anyone else from the party remembers that?
At Stage Nine, you made me drink beer. You made me act very cocky to a guy who once asked if he could suck my toes. When asked why we never hooked up, I gestured to the geeky man in the darling blue cardigan standing to my right and winked. I realized this morning, that probably came off as uber cocky, but I imagine it gave my boyfriend's self-esteem a nice boost. For that small favour, I thank you.
You also made me run across the street to the King of Donairs and order a bag of garlic bread, which I devoured in a matter of seconds. However, this morning, I am grateful to you for that. I think had you not made me eat an entire bag of bread, I might have been horribly hung over today.
I realize there is a symbolic warning on the label of the wine ith the devil's head, but may I suggest a written warning to accompany it for idiots like me? It could be very simple:
"This wine has been prepared for you by Satan. Drink with caution, for you may sell your soul to him or become a drunk asshole."
Sincerely,
the library girl
As I begin to write this, I am not sure if this is a fan letter or a letter of complaint. All I know is that your wine made me get drunk, and I fell on my ass.
It was all going so well last night at Brad's pink house birthday party. Booze was flowing, conversation abounded, and asses were grabbed and tested for their firmness quality. I think it was a perfect way to welcome Brad's 34th year on the pretty planet.
The night turned remotely grim, however, when your wine, which I had been drinking penty of, helped contribute to my lack of skill when walking on patches of ice. As we ran to the cab to head downtown for the goth night's 80s party, I slipped and fell directly on my ass. However, being the drunk genius I am, I tried to catch myself. Instead, I landed my entire body weight on my left hand and right wrist. Ouch!
Today, I can barely grip anything. You should have seen me tried to grab a cup of coffee at T-Ho's. How embarassing to whince in pain as the T-Ho's girl hands you a double-double. You have no idea how painful typing this is, too. I am thinking I need to drink more of your product to forget this ordeal, but I don't think I could actually open another bottle, because I am remotely debilitated at the moment.
There were other things you made me do, as well. I briefly mentioned the ass grabbing at the beginning of this. You know the devil wine made me do it. The contest where we felt and rubbed hairy bellies and bare asses was also your idea. I wonder if anyone else from the party remembers that?
At Stage Nine, you made me drink beer. You made me act very cocky to a guy who once asked if he could suck my toes. When asked why we never hooked up, I gestured to the geeky man in the darling blue cardigan standing to my right and winked. I realized this morning, that probably came off as uber cocky, but I imagine it gave my boyfriend's self-esteem a nice boost. For that small favour, I thank you.
You also made me run across the street to the King of Donairs and order a bag of garlic bread, which I devoured in a matter of seconds. However, this morning, I am grateful to you for that. I think had you not made me eat an entire bag of bread, I might have been horribly hung over today.
I realize there is a symbolic warning on the label of the wine ith the devil's head, but may I suggest a written warning to accompany it for idiots like me? It could be very simple:
"This wine has been prepared for you by Satan. Drink with caution, for you may sell your soul to him or become a drunk asshole."
Sincerely,
the library girl