Dear “King,” 

I do not know what this word “bromance” means.  Is a man-date like how I got dragged out to a Killed by Sailors concert last night and Jaden jumped off the stage and smashed his head on the floor and you have NO idea how hard it is to heal somebody after you’ve been drinking for three hours and I woke up on the living room carpet using somebody else’s shirt for a pillow and the end credits for something called “Animaniacs” on the TV?

I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend on Skype in ten minutes but I can’t get off this floor.  It won’t stop moving.  This is it, I’m trapped.  I’m going to fail Harvard and my girlfriend is going to leave me for an alien rockstar with a rat tail because of this floor.  Don’t follow in my footsteps, “King.”  It only leads to disaster and headaches.

ETA: Somebody put my laptop on the floor for me.  And then he laughed at me.  He’s the one who kept giving me shots in the first place.  This is all his fault.  I don’t know why this is something you want.

[Monstersocks Mamoru is by me.  Poor sad King of awful land of crystals is from On Razor’s Edge by LovelyLytton.  You should read Lytton’s fanfics.  It is beautiful.]


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