Dear SJV,

I just remembered about the time you got raging drunk, ran down the sidewalk, and chucked eggs at your ex-boyfriends brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee then busted ass on the way running back to your apartment and scraped your leg up almost beyond recognition. The wound was so gross you insisted that it was starting to smell like walnut, which according to WebMD is a warning sign of gangrene. You subsequently went around asking your friends to sniff your open sore and console you as you began to think you were going to lose a limb. I'm really trying hard not to laugh out loud uncontrollably at work right now as this memory is coming back to me.

G