I am 'sick' today. I have a rare strain of the flu known as 'fuck all y'all'. It's pretty rough. According to my doctor, I will 'freak the fuck out' if I see anyone from my workplace environment, so it is very important for the healing process that I stay out of there.
Well, I have received more than 800 emails from outraged widows and spinsters who were deeply hurt by the Tribune's callous, spiteful 'error' yesterday. This, clearly, has been a galvanizing moment. These women have endured the loss of their husbands, or endured never having had one at all. They do not care to be mistaken for each other, and they are 'turning the other cheek' no longer. The overwhelming consensus from this tidal wave of public opinion was that the Tribune must show its sincere regret by sending me, as their representative, a sandwich, right now. If the Tribune does not comply with this reasonable offer for peace, then I cannot be held responsible for the untold thousands of widows and spinsters who may descend upon Tribune Tower. I am recommending, for simplicity's sake, that widows descend from the south and spinsters from the north, but I cannot guarantee that will be the case.
The internet is conspiring to make me believe that my home computer is too slow and must be replaced. I am having none of that, because I have no money, but the internet is insistent. As far as I am concerned, the internet owes me five dollars.