Dear Dr. G-

I have to say that I am less than impressed with the hype.

You and I have had an ongoing relationship for quite some time but I’m ready to check into that money-back guarantee that someone mumbled about when they handed me that casual slip of paper with your name on it. I’m old school– I think value for money is a pretty fair way of doing business. Apparently that memo didn’t filter its way down to your way of thinking. So what I have now is pocket lint and more disappointment than an ocd gambler with a winning trifecta that just fluttered into a piss-filled toilet bowl.

Everyone keeps telling me how much I need you. Need, really? I’d rather my arm fall off. Well, okay… I guess that’s the point but I would still argue that I don’t have some half-assed, sappy, clingy thing where you are my reason to get up out of bed. That is too much like some ill-fated love affair gone wrong and we ain’t even goin’ there. I’ve seen what happens wMillerhen guys like you get all up in bed with some gals. It’s a mindfuck blow in a dark room where the illusion of a thimbleful of nothing is 3 white lines tapped out on a Miller High Life mirror. Turn on the lights and its baby asprin,powdered sugar and some creep who couldn’t get laid in a doghouse with two milkbones tied around his neck. On the other hand you also have the au naturelle girls with their Dr. GNC and vitamins D, C and E, glucosamine, chondroitin, acupuncture and massage. Still seems a clusterfuck and  emotional sinkhole; time probably best spent stress zinging at a demolition-derby.

No, I think I’ll take ten and a couple of Tylenol and maybe check back in next week.

If nothing else they have hacksaws on-sale at Costco.



2 thoughts on “Dear Dr. G-

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