dear brian ulrich's class

I am an American. As an American (in lieu of decent healthcare, I believe) I am entitled to break down in front of a bunch of strangers on the internet each and every valentines day (as well as any other day I so choose) and shame myself with my vulgar, bitter quips on whatever subject I like.

I appreciate your concern for my public image. I could probably use a good pr team in my corner... but if this happens again, I’ll be forced to pepper you in the face with bird shot from a safe (even comical) distance when nobodies watching. Not even your liberal media will be able to save you then.

(before you all go off and start whining to the administration that I am threatening to run for office… or make your faces swell up like inside out Chinese checker boards, just remember, you threatened me first. I have my honor to protect, you know. If I have to, I’ll swill whiskey and stroke gunmetal with the most distinguished statesmen, just to teach you all... hold on, my vegan sissy burger is ready…)

for your information, this sort of "10 am, haven’t slept, might still be a little drunk from last night but I’ve somehow already been to school and back" rant is "the other" part of my art. Don’t you like art?

Fuck.

Furthermore, I do kiss my mother with this mouth. She seems to very understand, about the mess, that is. I think she is just amazed that I was able to finally start leaving the last part off of the parenthood/ childhood favorite "godamit Geoffrey." it took a while though. It’s like when I was a kid and I thought both of my good friend's parents were named "chucknbev". I think I varied the inflection some how to address one or the other in particular... but now I have gotten off task.

watch your ass(s).

Sincerely,

Geoff

Ps My little sister might call you bitches… she is not a very good American, but better than I maybe. In my economy it’s the men that make 70 cents for every dollar that women do. And Christ, don’t even get me started on policy.