Thanksgiving, a time for reuniting with family members and scaring the living shit out of them. Since bringing a hooker home and introducing her as your fiancÃ© gets pretty expensive after a couple of hours, we've come up with a cost effective way of making your mother cry. Just write the following entries into a journal and leave it lying around the house for concerned relatives to stumble across.
Life in New York is great, though I have no idea why they call it "The Big Apple." I think "The Big City" would be more appropriate, as Manhattan is more like a city than a piece of fruit. Apples aren't filled with people trying to kill me.
I saw a number of blonde women who looked attractive from a distance, but up close they had really ugly faces. I asked all of them if they were Paris Hilton. None of them were. Some were flattered at my mistake, others offended. I marked the flattered ones with one dot, and the offended ones with two dots. I didn't make the same mistake twice. Actually, I did, but just once. One of the women had put on headphones and I couldn't see the dots I'd drawn on her head.
I bought a hot dog from a street vendor. He asked if I wanted mustard or ketchup. I flew into a rage because I'm allergic to mustard. Asshole.