Dear Paris Hilton,
The thing is, I love what we had, but what we had wasn’t love. It’s great that you remember the good time we had together, that night at the Gatorade®/Smirnoff® party.
You were so hot with your miniskirt and pink-eye. And I love how you tried to chew my food for me. But it’s over. I’ve moved on. And you should, too. So, I sent you back all the Chihuahuas you mailed to my house. Please stop calling my mom. The Zitomobile is not picking up any more hitchhikers.
Love,
The Zeet
-ps- you should probably get checked ; )
