Dear Wicked-Hott PR Guy,

I have to admit, you have mad networking skills. I saw you work them when you set up a meeting with me at Starbucks a year ago, paid for my coffee and chatted me up. Unfortunately, your clean-cut good looks, endearing voice and slick likeability do nothing for you when I'm working on deadline and you send me a release an hour before press time. I don't care how good looking you are, there isn't much you could do that would get me to write your story for publication at that point.

Also, it was completely unacceptable that you invited me to a grand opening party for a local store and then failed to show your adorable face when I finally got there. Screw the fact that I showed up four minutes after the party was supposed to have ended. I'm a reporter, and you -- in your complete obliviousness -- scheduled the party during the local council meeting, which is no question more important than your store opening.

If you really wanted me to cover it, you should have had your adorable self there next to me when I finally arrived telling me I'm pretty and handing me all the free promotional shit you promised me but never delivered. Where is my free shit? Now I'm ignoring your store opening completely unless you call me this morning to apologize and ask me to coffee again. That's the power of the press -- remember that the next time you need some media coverage. I get what I want, you get what you want. It's tit for tat, baby (especially since my prude boyfriend seems to have decided that second base is an unnecessary stop on the way to third during our make out sessions. My 34Fs need some love.).

This low cut top will convince you to see things my way,
L