Dear uber hip 20-30 something artfully tatted and pierced nice looking City of Roses woman. I'm a 50 something white guy and kind of a square. And strange as it may seem sometimes you and the likes of me travel in the same circles.

So if I see you standing around someplace drinking your wimpy five dollar coffee before heading to your boring day job so you can continue to shred guitar solos in your band (in front of 15 people) at night, and I feel like saying something to you such as, "Nice body art," I'll bloody well say it. If you are taken aback by the stunning inappropiateness of a wrinkly old fart having the temerity to speak to a preternaturally cool chick like yourself—tough beans.

As you experience the traumatic aftemath of this most disturbing event, you might go re-check the First Amendment, (I'm sure you've read it often enough and can therefore easily recite its five guaranteed freedoms, because it's wise to know your rights and everyone knows you are smart as well as pretty), part of which reads: "The right to speak freely, on any subject whatever, shall not be abridged..." not even by a staggeringly striking Portland queen such as yourself.

After you have dissed me back to my Section 8 studio apartment with tail between my legs, go pound sand while removing the stick from your shapely rear end uppity gal.