I suggested earlier in this thread that you perform the anatomically impossible feat of attempted self-copulation. I apologize. You understand, I'm sure, that I'm just really stressed out.
Well, anyway. You mean a lot to me. And, yeah, I know I've been drinking tonight ... and I know I've not been myself lately. ... But, shhh-shhh. Listen. What I'm trying to say is that I really care about you. Sorry I used such crass language earlier. It wasn't right. Not to a fine school like yourself. And, you know what, you do deserve better. You deserve a man who brings you flowers and cooks you a nice dinner from time to time... You deserve a man who can easily score at 165+. ... The first time.
Anyway, what I've been meaning to say is that ... well Hastings just isn't what I thought. I know. I know. You were right. I mean, I know you didn't say anything about Hastings. But I could tell what you were thinking: "Hastings is no good for you," you said; "you think you want Hastings," you said, "but you'll come crawling back, and when you do, nuh-uh."
I was blinded, Davis. I was blinded by the prospect of the ... well ... I guess the Tenderloin and the exorbitant COA. I don't know. Actually. Maybe it was Golden Gate Park. Baker Beach. I mean. Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival in my backyard? Please, Davis. You've got bike paths, sure. But you can't compete with HSB X.
Anyway ... what? Yes. OK. OK. Yes. Hastings told me today not to come around anymore. That she needs some time. Maybe till May. Maybe July. Maybe never, I don't know. ... I know. I know. It sounds like I'm just crawling back to you now that my heart's been broken.
Well ... OK. It's true. But, Davis ... you know you're the law school for me. Let's quit playing games, Davis. You know I'm yours.