Dearest readers,

I fear on my last excursion into the apologetic, that perhaps I lacked what some might refer to as “restraint”. Yes, my sins were rather egregious, and may warrant some divine form of punishment one way or another, but I digress… I think I may have a bit more tea to spill. With the kettle flaming hot, and the floor well equipped with some banana peels and oil, I think it’s time for a good ol’ fashioned slip-up. Without further ado, here’s to the end of this goddamn virus:

First off, to my sophomore year English teacher, I’m sorry I briefly forgot how to write an essay and turned one in that was written in the first person. To this day, that essay haunts me as one of my most tragic bodies of work. Maybe I was just exercising my own narcissistic ego, or was it the fact that I’d recently been watching the dawn of the “vlog” on YouTube? Who knows? Ultimately, my spellbound ass decided it was a fAnTaStIc idea to open my essay with, “In Blah Blah Blah’s book “The Blah Blah Blah”, I believe…” If there’s anything I believe in now, it’s the fact that the first person… maybe shouldn’t be my first resort. I’ve been wanting to close that chapter of my life for quite some time.

Secondly, to my grandma and her scrumptious chocolate chip cookie shot glasses — yes, it was me who ate all 20 of them. At the bumbling age of 12, the concept of a chocolate chip cookie shot glass was not only extremely enticing, but rather wondrous in nature. The cold, hard cookie brought together the best of both worlds: crunchy upon the initial bite, accompanied by the warmth of the alpha amylase in my saliva slowly working its magic to warm that little sucker up while I chewed. The chocolate interior of the glass maintained its frigidity, steadfastly adhering to its role as “milk-blocker” to prevent my T-shirt from getting sent to the Magical Washer Above. One unassuming cookie shot glass later, and my brain began to experience ecstasy. For some others, perhaps this drug is better suited for enhancing such sensations of intense glee, but not for me. In fact, on any day of the week, I’d gladly indulge my sense of taste in a sugary sojourn into sweetness than pump my body full of chemicals (though I’m not denying sugar is one hell of an addictive chemical itself). The real question I’ve been asking myself is, why 20? To that, I’ll answer with another question: why not 21? The concept of restraint was likely foreign in nature to my stupid middle school self, and in a great example of my hubris, I too quickly assumed my body could handle the glucose gluttony I’d been partaking in. Although to be fair, I’m pretty sure you knew it was me when chocolate chunks started showing up in my vomit. Still, better now than never.

Third, to my very first Gmail account, I’m sorry I didn’t know how to tell viruses from real e-mails. I should’ve known there were no “hot singles in my area” dying to know a first grader. Actually, I’m pretty sure I barely even knew what the term “hot single” was. Unfortunately, this simple link click led to this account being taken over by a hacker, which I later found out when my parents both suddenly found themselves with “hot singles in their area” dying to meet them too. At first, I was like, “Wow, there’s a lot of singles in the area (of course I still didn’t know what a ‘single’ person was)” but then I was like, “Wait…?!” The account had to be shut down for good, and I will admit I did cry a little bit as my very first email was tossed headfirst into Google’s deletion service. R.I.P old friend.

Fourth, to my high school back, I’d like to say sorry for being so shitty with book management. Everyone I knew kept telling me to put some of my books in a locker, but I just wasn’t having it. I think at the peak of my highschool career, my backpack weighed something like 35 pounds and was starting to take a toll on my back. I’ll never forget the day I watched the Hunchback of Notre Dame from Disney, and realized that I was starting to look like Quasimodo. Even worse, I realized I didn’t have a heart of gold to fall back on like he did. Luckily, things became A LOT better in college, but that doesn’t mean your suffering was necessary at all. If I’d probably learned to budget my time in between classes a little better, perhaps I wouldn’t have to work out my shoulders every now and then to keep them limber.

Fifth, to Geoffrey Chaucer, I’m sorry for using SparkNotes to write my Canterbury Tales paper. I read the book, but having to recite three tales orally in the original Middle English was a goddamn killer. I barely knew what the fuck was going on every time someone would read a story in front of the class, and that was with the actual text smack dab in front of me. Not gonna lie, but Spark Notes did a pretty good job breaking down the syllabic English you wrote your book in. While I’m being totally honest, Middle English is such a shitty way to write a book. The Canterbury Tales are super entertaining to read, but are a real pain in the ass to say out loud. Ironic the entire thing is formatted as a group of people conversing…almost makes me wonder how the hell their ears even withstood listening to this nonsense for so many pages. I’m sorry for using SparkNotes, but that doesn’t mean I change my stance on why I was driven to such ends.

Sixth, to In-N-Out Burger, I’m sorry I briefly questioned whether Shake Shack had the better burger, a moment of massive imbecility on my end. Admittedly, I was high off the wafting smells of freshly cooked burgers, and crispy, golden fries straight from the fryer. As the aromas slapped my olfactory cells, they triggered a salivary response throughout my entire body and I very much wanted to inhale my entire plate of food before me. But then I returned back to the West Coast, and ate another one of your delicious Double-Doubles with Onions, Cheese, Lettuce, Tomato, and that oh-so-delectable Special Sauce. I felt like a blasphemer, like I had betrayed the institution that had stood behind me through thick and thin — that I had visited for the majority of my young adult life, that had provided many a quick lunch or dinner on several different occasions… and all for the whore that is Shake Shack. Maybe it was pleasurable in the short term, but In-N-Out was a stable, wholesome commitment. When you have something good going, why leave it?

Seventh, to my USB Type-A sticks, I’m really ashamed of the amount of times I put y’all into my laptop the wrong way. A few files may have been corrected from doing this over and over and over again. I realize that perhaps you don’t offer the same sort of comfort as a Type-C, where one size fits all, but you did, at the very least, find a pretty good way for me to move my files around. Most of the time when I plugged y’all in I was barely looking at the port, and oftentimes would miss and jam you straight into my laptop, which hurt both you and my laptop’s exterior (not good at all). To exorcise my inner demons, I’ve been to USB-management seminars and they’ve better helped me control my unhinged rage when I plug USBs in. I promise I’m better.

Lastly, I wanted to say sorry to the Sun. My sleep schedule has been so messed up these last few weeks that I’ve barely seen you around. Sorry to say, but you’ve been replaced. The Moon is my new Sun, and that’s something you’re just going to have to accept from now on. I’m a child of the night time, a nocturnal being free from the bright lights and fame. 

Best,

Muckracking Man