Text-icular Cancer

Please stop texting me. I beg of you, refrain from your villainous assault on my piggy bank. Seriously, it’s eating away at my soul. The cost of communication is killing me softly and yet you still insist on messaging me things that you could easily take care of with a free phone call (yeah, nights and weekends) or via ol’ reliable Hedwig (Hagrid gave her to you for a reason).

And these one worders! So sadistic!

Hi = 10 cents
dinner? = 10 cents
herpes! = 10 cents + visit to the clinic

(as I’m writing this, I realize that the keyboard allows me to type a dollar $ign but I can’t type the cents symbol. U know, the little c with a toothpick struck down the center, kind of like a letter sandwich…but what I’m saying is this--keyboards discriminate against cents which results in dollar sign privilege)

All these texts add up…to 30 cents! That’s 3 dimes I could’ve used for my ‘cheese of the month’ scratch n sniff cards. That’s thirty copper pennies I could’ve inserted into my 15 pairs of penny loafers. That’s one quarter I could’ve used to complete my 50 state quarter map (goodbye Wyoming, “The Equality State”) and one nickel I could’ve used to hire Lucy for her psychiatric help.

Damn you lecherous thieves!

So I’ve decided that I'm billing you the 10 cents + interest for every text you send me. Don't test me...or text me, because i will come to your door late at night, when you least expect it, demanding the rights to your drawstring coin purse.

Otherwise, if you're gonna write me a message that I'm paying for, it better be worth it. I expect to see some character development, allegorical overtures, a little iambic pentameter, and at least 3 references to my massive triceps. I mean seriously, I'm paying for ur writing, i need me some quality.

So the next time you think about texting me, remember these words:

Everytime you send a text, god kills a kitten.