She said, I think I'm going to Boston

Okay, okay, okay.

Dear I Am Tempted To Call You By Your First Name, Though That In Itself Is Idiotic Because I Have No Idea, For The Life Of Me, Who My Butterfly Haven Of A Blog Dared Offend:

You're blameless, I have a blackened steel heart. Angels cried at your birthday, orgies were held at mine. Flowers bloom wherever your delicate feet tread, whereas there are only cracks in the asphalt of my paths. Honey flows mist-like whenever you open your mouth, and I only seem to signal the Second Coming whenever I open mine. Not to mention whenever I write something.

We've established that. So. Let's have coffee sometime and plot against him. Okay, I'm kidding. Oh, me and my lurid sense of humor. Oh, me and my vindictive blackened steel of a heart. Sigh. So few people actually understand the snarkiness. Oh my, my, my. Misunderstood emo git. Sob, sob, sniffle, sniffle.

Human beings would insert an apology right about . . . here. But I haven't had much training in that department.

Yours,
Heartless Hag

PS
The first five people who have been offended by any of my writing, at all, whether it be the color of the font or the width of the page, please step right up and claim a year's supply of No Bitchery Coupons, care of the Principal's Office.

PPS
Christ, I've fucked it up again, haven't I? Damn it, off to the slammer I go.