Please tell my physical therapist I'm not going to make our appointment this morning, because I'm just so super cozy. Snuggley buggley. Here, get in.
Also, I am stuck in a tree sitting with a branch between my ass cheeks. Now I am wearing a thong made of rope. Now I'm sitting on the bar of my bicycle. Wait, at least one of these things has to be a dream.
Oh. It's just the pant leg of my pajamas that has ridden up and is bunched up in my ass. How did that happen? Did you do that? Silly Fuhrer!
In conclusion, the physical therapy lady is old and she makes me do old lady exercises. Stop licking your vagina, Hitler, it's shaking the bed. Wait, that was probably the dog. I meant the dog. Not you.
Is this a dream? Aren't you dead, Hitler? This letter will never make it from death to physical therapy on time. I should just call and cancel. Will you call for me? My arm will get cold if I reach for the phone. The number is 1-800-petmeds. No. That can't be right. 1-800-95Jenny.
Friends forever.
Love,
Becky
