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Dear Santa, I know it’s only August and also you don’t exist, but I would nonetheless like to request a pair of these Stow Acorn Antique Derby Boots from Trickers, because they are, in layman’s terms, the tits. Like holy fucking shit, man, just look at these jawns: they are the Platonic ideal of dress boots. Who doesn’t love a storm welt paired with a heavy brogue? Brogues are for rogues, bro. Everybody knows that. Brogues are not for peasant slaves though. No offense to the peasant slaves, of course. I don’t make the rules. I merely, like a whore, unpack my heart with words. No offense to the whores either. Sex work is real work. Are any of these Hamlet jokes landing or am I on my own here? With every post, I find new ways to alienate large portions of my vanishingly small audience. I’d never even be able to wear these boots, considering how many times I’ve shot myself in the foot. Why, what an ass am I! Okay, I promise to stop with the Shakespeare quotes. I’m just feeling emo and there are few characters in the history of literature more emo than that tragically mopey Prince of Denmark. A mall emo-inspired production of Hamlet would actually be super dope. Stick him in a My Chemical Romance shirt, give him a swoopy haircut, snakebite piercings, and copious amounts of heavy black eyeliner. You know what? I’ve said too much already. If any of you jack my idea and put this show up without consulting me, I will burn down whatever shithole black box theater you’re operating out of. Your stage manager will be scooping up your cremains with your shitty, hastily Photoshopped playbills. Think these are idle threats? I wrote the first draft of the book for Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark, but it was stolen off my computer while I was dropping a dining hall cuisine deuce in the dorm bathroom. We all know how that one worked out. No offense to thespians injured in the line of duty. I have mad respect for acting. Y’all probably think Uta Hagen is a German ice cream brand. I’m a fan of the craft. And Billy Zane. He’s a cool dude. BloodRayne was hot garbage though. I promise I didn’t write that one. Fuck, how did I get from 670 USD boots to Uwe Boll’s filmography? I feel like I took a bunch of Ambien in my bedroom and woke up naked in the middle of a Walgreens. Hate when that happens. Oh well. I’ll just have to stay on topic next time. Pinky promise -RB
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