Tonight I was setting up for a party that was sponsored by a crappy magazine. This crappy magazine is popular among middle american housewives and it peeks out from the inevitable pile of crap that forms on the first surface indoors from the mailbox.
"I hate this magazine." I said aloud. It felt good just to say it.
"Me to," said the party planner. "They're a real pain in the ass."
"Yeah, and what's with these shitty decorations?" I held up a cheap bundle of flowers, a county-fair teddy bear and a plastic vase from the box on the table. "Real Simple. More like really, really stupid."
She looked at me with an anger that can only come from sadness.
"My father sent me that because I have to work on my birthday."