Guys, my Monkey sister makes me laugh (IE look what she wrote to me)

Top Ten Reasons Not To Kill Yourself (on this CA trip) :

10. Uh, then how are you gonna throw anymore F#@$%*n Taco Parties?...
think about it- Death just kinda kills the Carne A-sa-da aroma.
[note: this is referencing Michael Ian Black's essay which i won't put a link to b/c my mom can't hear so that much swearing]

9. [note: had to remove but this one was AMAZING]

8. Who's gonna save all the plastic bags on earth?

7. Who's gonna carry purses twice their size and bodyweight in chic paper thin coats that look good and warm nothing, thus letting MaryKate+Ashley Olsen WIN?! You can't let the Olsen twins win. The terrorists would love that.

6. Somebody's got to feed all your pet taxidermized birds. And it's not me.

5. Your Bed. Who the F. will appreciate / sleep in that plush huge thing if you don't? You don't want it to think you left if for Di's bed, do you (permanently) ?

4. That would be a waste of a new hard drive / trip to the Apple store / whatever they just did to fix your computer.

3. You know i would just cut all the sleeves off your most-usable couture, think about wearing them onstage once, then throw them to the D.I....in UTAH just so people would have to put sleeves back on them again. Kidding.
I'd donate them to Africa so those pot-bellied ring-worm kids didn't have to be self conscious about their starving body image. (+the clothes would look AMAZING on those frames)

2. Think of the children. No, not your shoes.
Arrow/Aarica/Lola/jude/ etc/the brats on Supernanny/your microbiotic diet hipsters named tennyson (yes, enough time will have elapsed) and minx, and fruity pebbles. Nix that- Fruity Pebbles is mine. Don't even call that name.

1. Who else am i gonna turn to and say, 'Hey have you tried...[insert whatever u just told me to do 4yrs ago here: from seeing Ironman to wearing feathers], it's the best- Why didn't anyone tell me about this??"


She sent me this when I was having a hard time in CA.
But don't worry, CA still loves me, look . . .