I know what you’re thinking. “How can I score tickets to such classy events?” I’d tell you if I knew. Do you know how many people I’ve killed, trying to gain acceptance to the Brunch Gala? Do you know the number of psyches I’ve shattered in my interrogations? I’ve honestly lost count. At this point I’d even accept an invitation to the Elevenses Hoedown, but everybody pretends they have no idea what I’m talking about. “Please,” they convincingly plead. “I have work tomorrow. I swear, I don’t know what a ‘Breakfast Ball’ is. Why must you do this?” They are truly masters of withholding information. I’ll crack one of them some day, like eggs, sunny side up.

Speaking of which, that’s the sun protruding over the horizon, isn’t it? Like a boil on the mountain side. Disgusting. Someone should lance it. Look, before I begin to smolder, I’d like to ask you for your honest opinions regarding certain things about this place. I know it needs work, but I killed all the prisoners that happened to be design majors. They were liars, all of them! You, though. You’re different, I can totally tell. Something about your toes, I think. So, I ask you, how can I improve the site? The layout, the colors, and maybe there’s content that I should add in a new page. What would your eyes like to see?

Prose is fine, but if you answer in rhyme I won’t wail about it.

At least, not till Friday.