To the scoundrel(s) who stole Rebecca’s car,
May you shit ten miles of barbed wire. My dear friend Rebecca, one of the noblest creatures I have ever known, came to visit Wesleyan for an evening of revelry and celebration. Sweet, innocent Rebecca arrived with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. But sadly that smile is gone. And that song, well, it plays no longer. The evening got off to a famous start, but while we delighted on the dance floor at 128 Pearl you sketchily (Microsoft Word didn’t underline “sketchily” with red. Weird) stole her handbag from the coat pile. And as we searched for the lost bag and made phone call after desperate phone call in an attempt to retrieve the lost item, you slimed your way into her prized automobile and made off with it, cackling, no doubt. Perhaps my judgments are premature. Maybe you’re not the soulless douche I’m imagining. Perhaps you just sipped a little too much sizzurp and thought you’d try to impress your homies who think GTA is like, the sweetest game ever. But dawg(z), what GTA fails to impress is what happens the next morning, and it involves saying “fuck” a lot of times and throwing things and driving around for hours looking for the stolen car while listening to depressing music. And I don’t even like to listen to depressing music until it starts snowing.
Now, I’m a reasonable man, and I’m certainly not an aggressive man. But I tell you this, perpetrator(s): You made an incredible individual very, very upset. She didn’t quite cry, but she came damn close. As much as I’d like to shiv you in the thigh, I’m open to settling this like mature, shivless adults. Just give the car back, dude(ette)(s). Also give back the cell phones and iPod and wallet and everything else you violently tore from her possession. You can keep the half bottle of whisky. It was gross anyway. No questions asked, for real. I’ll even buy you dinner, although I can’t promise the conversation will be very friendly. And it’ll have to be somewhere that takes points. It can even be during steak night at the Star and Crescent, and that costs, like, 18 points. I’m not kidding, about the car or the steak. And if you give me the car back I’ll write on your Facebook wall every day so it looks like you’re way more popular than you actually are. This goes for you too, innocent student reading this. If you spot a champagne colored Saab with Massachusetts plates and a blue bumper and help me apprehend these wily perps, there’s like, three steaks coming your way. And I’ll even poke you. As I sent Rebecca back home, shivering and defeated like a wet ferret, I promised her that I would find that car, and Broseph(ine)(s), I’ll do whatever it takes to get it. I’ve been watching a lot of Law and Order: SVU, so I know how this stuff works. With your help we can make a sad girl happy once again. But you’re still (a) dick(s).
Sincerely,
Andrew Flint
(413)822-1453
aflint@wesleyan.edu
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