Dear Hooker,

I'm sorry for passing by you on 18th & Q on Saturday night and scoffing at the fact that you sell your fat thighs for sex. I probably would have faked you out and told you you were pretty if your fat didnt bust through the holes in your fishnets. Ew. And I'm sorry that when I saw you coming off of the blue line at Foggy Bottom last night, that I screamed "HOOKER! You're the drunk hooker, right!?". You were embarassed. You tripped in your stilettos when you stumbled to the escalator.

I'm sorry if your STDs come easier than the ABCs,
Mike