Mr. Ade Magnaye,
It has come to my attention that in the seven months since you became single, your financial, emotional, sexual, and physical well-being has been in a state of constant decline. Yes, I know, you have the urge to tear this letter apart this very moment, and I don’t blame you. In fact, you have every reason to tear this letter apart and jump from the roof of your garage and land facefirst onto the pavement. Again. Hey, it’s your life and I don’t care if you want to waste it by being depressed like fuck and hiding under a blanket and the 20+ pillows you keep in your bedroom.
But hey, hear me out for once, okay? You fucking need some straightening out.
If you don’t believe the “your financial, emotional, sexual, and physical well-being has been in a state of constant decline” part, let me enumerate what you’ve done the last week:
- Sunday – After waking up with a massive hangover, you decide to go to Church and spend five hours in a confessional boring the parish priest to death about your sins, which consist of you illegally downloading music off Limewire and loading them onto your iPod. Exciting.
- Monday – You spend Monday being epically late for an hour and a half for work. Speaking of work, you spent half the day ogling at that hot chick from that other department. Today’s accomplishment: none.
- Tuesday – After being on time (for once), you decide to sit near that hot chick again so you can openly ogle at her again. However, your constant wolf-whistling and other caveman antics seemed to have scared her and half the people at work. Also, you get an urgent memo from the company shrink.
- Wednesday – After spending three hours in the bathroom bawling your eyes out because you find out that hot chick you always spy on has a boyfriend, you plot to break them up.
- Thursday – You forget for once that you have an evil scheme to break a happy couple up because it’s Thursday, the day where new issues of comics are released. You go to the store and blow 700 pesos on comics, which only get drenched in the rain. Once you get home, you discover that the comics have dissolved. Win.
- Friday – After eating two Big Macs for lunch, you accept an invitation to drink your sorrows away. Which we all know does more harm than good, because you were found five hours later in your boxers only, in a drunken stupor, dancing along Ortigas Avenue, singing The Village People’s “In The Navy”. Not a pretty sight.
- Saturday – Being mortified at all the misfortunes you encounter during the week, you decide to forego all invites to get drunk and you spend Saturday night wallowing in self-pity about how totally made of suck you are. Because of said depression episode, you missed the opportunity to see the hot chick you were spying on, having a major break-up fight with her now-ex. You suck.
Anyway, the point of this letter is that you need to straighten up. Like seriously. Since it took you six months to spiral hopelessly out of control, I give you six months to fix yourself. Or else I take away your comics. Especially the Captain America hoard. And I know that you don’t like that.
P.S. – SIOMAI – 2 SiOmAi LaB 4 u!
P.P.S. – HOPIA – hOpiA PiL iT 2!