Phyliss

     My dear, dear Phyliss:

These past five months (five months exactly, actually. I was legally fit to interact with you August 1st.) Although I do enjoy the fun places we've encountered together, Phyliss, I have to say that you are too obnoxiously noisy for my taste. The way your rear end feels the need to say something every time we stop somewhere makes me want to cut my ears off and smear my ear blood all over your body. And I cannot think of a better way that I would want to spend my well-earned Saturday morning than waking up at 8 AM to take you to the hospital. The fragility of your body is a turn off. You're body is not a wonderland.

Phyliss, there are many positive things about you. Like your name. You were named by a crazy ex-girlfriend of my brother. Did you know he hates your name more than many other things in this world? Well, he does. You put smiles on peoples faces when they learn how horrendous your name actually is. The colour of your skin makes them giggle as well.

Ok, I lied. There is nothing positive about you. Other than the fact that you are capable of accompanying me from point A to point B. Which, Phyliss, a blind, deaf, stupid, or even dead raccoon could do just as well as you do. But that's okay, because in a way, you are blind, deaf, stupid, and dead as well. I rule rock your world. I am your master, Phyliss. You are my car, and you do as I say.

But don't say too much, because like I said, I will smother you in my ear-blood. And the doctor says the inside of my ears are not very pleasant.

Love,
     Your master