STOP fake jogging around my block just to bump into me
To the fat, sweaty man with the curl in his hair and the impossible dream in his probably hypertrophied heart:
You are obviously the type who would pour all of his hope and loneliness into a missed connection ad, so I figured I would beat you to the punch and save you some time, some anxious waiting, and many miles of pretend jogging. For several days in a row now you have taken great pains (I can hear you wheezing old boy, you should look into an inhaler) to orchestrate a series of "coincidences" between you and me. I open the door, I unlock the security gate, and there you are without fail right next to my stairs, smiling up at me, suddenly stopping to mop your glistening brow and bending over for a breather, exhaling triumphantly as if you've just broken that untouchable record you set for Georgetown track and field so many years ago. Yes, I know you bleed Hoya blue.
So I have a few questions for you, running man. First off, who do you think you're fooling? Do you expect me to believe that the Fates want so badly for us to unite our energies that our lives are running on synchronized, parallel courses that allow you to be "jogging" up to my steps at the exact moment I happen to be leaving for work everyday? Bitch, please. I mean, I'm a young lady of considerable imaginative capabilities, but this is more far fetched than the plot of "Encino Man". I know you are a fake jogger and a real creep because sometimes I leave at 9 am, and sometimes I leave well after 10. You clearly don't run for 2 hours every morning, as your heaving beer belly is the first sweet inch of your physique I see when you approach. I have good reason to believe you wait in that car that is always at the corner for the sound of my door opening, and I know that you look at my ass everytime I pass you. My last question to you is, what kind of game do you think you're going to run on me? You clearly don't have a job if you have all this free time to take to the streets, you are pasty and dull, and you look way too old for that iPod. I am a precocious, nubile, 18-year-old scientist with more achievements to her credit than you could shake your jowls at.
So, old boy, I advise you to find a new route for your fake jogging, or just something else to do with your time. Lifetime is now showing the follow up series to Golden Girls -- The Golden Palace. It's pretty funny, and Don Cheadle is on it. Yeah, I know, I don't get it either, but you should watch it, because here's what: it wouldn't take more than a pack of cigarettes to coerce that junkie with the push cart full of Tidy Cat and trash bags to punch you in your fat neck if you don't watch it.
Girl in the White Brick House