Hey! You! Yeah, you. Are you feeling lost, down on your luck, alone? Are you feeling cast away, like no one gets you? Maybe that wife of yours is named, hypothetically, Molly Dee MacAnderson, and maybe she spends way too much time at "yoga class in the park"? And, maybe, you know deep down that there is no yoga; she can barely touch her toes. She gets tired going up the stairs. But maybe you’re too afraid to call her out. And maybe that’s because you are both comfortable with the lie that keeps your marriage together. Anyway. There's hope for you, in all of us, really. We each have the potential to be great. Just keep reading this very legitimate article that was not cut out and pasted into The Radish, your favorite guilty pleasure tabloid, to learn how that potential can be honed into pure profit. 

Listen Bill, I'm gonna be Frank with you. You're a loser, and I don't care about how you're doing. I don't care if you get better or not. You're stuck in a pathetic dead-end job and you're useless, Billiam, useless. I saw you lick that coffee off the ground the other day, and honestly, my level of respect for you didn't lower at all. That's how little I respect you, Bill.

What kind of a name is Bill anyway? You're forty, grossly out of shape, and named Bill. I wonder what motivates you to get up every day. Certainly not that dog that clearly resents you.

Hey, Bill? What's the difference between your wife and me? I still see potential in you and your wife isn't watching you read this, sitting in a bush outside your house, chuckling because you didn’t even notice an extra bush in the backyard. Anyway. You may be wondering why I'm doing this for you, Bill. That’s a good question. Simply put, you owe me money. You’ve owed me money for fourteen years, Bill. I bet you’re shaking your head as you’re reading this, going, “Noooo Frank, I swear I paid you back the money, I know I did!” DON’T TAKE ME FOR A FOOL! Now here’s what you’re gonna do. Leave your money in a dog bowl. I don’t care if there’s food on it, I’ll lick it off. And if you hear someone rustling and growling in the middle of the night, it’s probably me taking back what was stolen from me. Goodbye, Billyboy.
Love,

Frank