Dear Me,


I don't really know how to tell you this, but I'm selling myself for candy.
I think I realized it when I tripped on peanut butter at the mental hospital and I saw you sit on my prized statue of Michael Jackson in the nude.
I'm sure you're shamed enough to understand that I may pee my pants.
I'm returning the couch cushions to you, but I'll keep my common sense
as a memory. You should also know that I haven't showered in a month and
I love Oprah Winfrey.