Jesus Is... Humoring You by John Roper, Staff Writer
 Dear Travesty,
I'm sorry it had to end like this. I know that even though you said it was you, it was me. I agree: It's time for me to move on. I just wish I could have slept with more of you. Take care. Yeah, we'll keep in touch — three years down the road at a party where you awkwardly ask if you hurt me. Well... a little maybe, but it hurt good. I know I left my emotional scars and stains all over the eternal bathrobe of our fine publication, my better moments surrounded by my overwhelming sense of myself as a diva. However, please just remember me for the good times, for my contributions to the publication and for pushing the limits of what qualifies as "staff writer." And always know that I fucking own the north side. -69-
—John Roper
|
