Huh? Oh, You're Damaged

Please, please note that I am not your therapist.

While I am sitting at my computer, composing letters of apology for my unexcused awesomeness, reading bash, and chatting people, I am killing time by doing things that I like to do. The fact that I do them all day... well. That's because they pay me the big bucks to sit in front of the computer, writing code. I am not an internet psychoanalyst.

I do not know where your boyfriend is. He is probably outside my house, waiting for me to come home, because I am sexy and he likes penis. I hope he brought chocolate syrup.

I don't know why you can't ever seem to meet the right person. Well, I do. It's because you read the common law wrong. When a gentleman opens the door for you, it doesn't bind him into a lifetime of servitude.

I really am not sure how come things keep ending up the way they do, but I did get a letter in a bottle recently that said Y_u _ust mig_t b_ a b_tch.

This has been a hopefully short and sweet public service announcement. I am now going to hit 'Ignore'.