Dear Raymi

I live next to two sorrorities.

Sometimes they get high and yell random shit at the top of the parking lot by

me. I think it’s terrible, they always say just the wrong thing. The

frassholes are just as bad. I delegate the whole greek system into frasshole

and sorrostitute… it’s just my thing I guess. Anyways

These guys wear their baseball/trucker hats at the most asinine angles, like

between 45 degrees and 10 degrees. They come into my chinese resturant (where

I work as the token white guy) and all I can think is “Look fucker, I know you

want to sound serious while ordering food or about drinking beer and banging

girls, but with your hat like that you might as well be wearing clown make-up.”

Another thing is their thing for the popped collar. I mean honestly, everyone

who has done that is now washed up and sad about their lives. This is

evidenced in Huey Lewis, the News, and these bastards’ future.

Tonight we got drunk and laughed and listened to neutral

milk hotel and hoped that I got a job in new york city, because I need to be

in a big place and go to bars and pretend I’m irish. It’s a continuation of

an old adventure.