So, the first thing you should know about me is when I drink whiskey I become an unrepentant sociopath with a sense of entitlement a mile across. HOWEVER, I appear to have a conscience once sober, because I feel bad about having picked your pocket the other night at a show. I just wanted you to know that whatever you felt when you found out your cigarettes, cash, and cell phone were missing from the front right pocket of your cargo pants was totally justified (note: wear tighter pants). You will be tickled to find out that the powers that be have rained dermatological retribution down upon me. I have what I will term a "karmic rash" on both forearms and my chest that itches horribly. I also burned the living fuck out of my finger when the cherry of a cigarette I stole from you became affixed to my cuticle. I thought of you as I cringed and squeezed pus out of my burn blister this morning, and again when I bought cortisone cream from Walgreens. I am a vile, perfidious cunt, and I am sorry.—Anonymous
'Tis the Season to Be Sorry
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