Letter Number Twenty-Three.

Dear Shenanigans,

I wish I were having more of you. Like the kind where you go out for locally-brewed beers with a couple of your closest friends and then find yourself in the morning passed out at a nudist colony full of disease-free (insert sex/es and gender/s you’re attracted to here) who are really fucking attracted to (insert your gender/s here) with (insert your eye color here) eyes, (insert your hair color and style here) hair, (insert your body type here) hotness, and especially (insert your fucking awesome skills and personality traits here). Then, you wake up from local booze passoutiness and dance all night, eat (insert your favorite food here), have multiple (insert your favorite sexual outcome here) in a bed with super-soft (insert you favorite color here) cotton/bamboo/soy/banana fiber sheets, and then paint inspiring wall graffiti that eventually brings peace to the entire world, ends world hunger, and inspires all people to become carbon neutral.

Yeah, that’s the good shit.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Oh, man, just from writing you I need to change pants. I mean what?