HEY, FUCK YOU, MISTER.
I could understand it if you wanted to “interrupt whatever the fuck” I was thinking about with some important announcement about Dannity Kane’s new cassingle, or maybe if you needed to let the fans know that your new cologne, I Am King, was now being sold in single-serving bottles for touch-ups at the club. But you, sir, do not need to interrupt whatever the fuck I was thinking about to scream in my face for three minutes about a Super Bowl party in St. Petersburg, Florida. Post this shit on the South-Eastern Florida Intranet where it might mean something to someone.
And FY Information, I was thinking about what the world would be like if you could actually use candy as currency. I’d almost come up with a candy-economy based solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, too. But what’s that you say? Girls have Brazilian waxes and men have jobs at your parties? You idiot.