Dear Chicken Fingers,

I'm terribly sorry I abruptly stopped enjoying you. You see, my work partner decided to announce his excitement as he entered the work truck in a sing-songy display. What was in his hands you ask, Chicken Finger? The over-the-counter wonder "Plan B." But to his dismay, it was "50 bucks, man!" But don't you worry about his financial status- "looks like I'll tell girlfriend it's 50-50 since we both screwed up." Mmm, I can taste the class. When I asked about birth control, I was met with a blank stare. This coming from the guy who asked "the what?" when I called that "that pillar thing" the Washington Monument. I need a real job quick.

Hungry for responsibilty,
Dan in DC