A Letter to 13 Year Old Girls

Dear all 13 year old girls,
Recently I encountered one of your breed: a Miley Cyrus/Mischa Barton wannabe.
Although I tried to stick to the government safety guidelines Do not approach, Do Not look straight in the eye, this one approached me. And yes, you guessed it; this is another letter of complaint.

First of all, she tried the “I’m-16-and-I’m-A-Rebel” tactic on me.
For crime-watch reconstruction purposes, we will be calling her ‘Lucy’.
‘Lucy’ tried to be patronizing and said she had seen me and my “little indie friends” around town. This shook me to the core, believe me. She was trying to look down on me. Note that I was 3 times as tall as her and she still hadn’t quite evolved into a recognizable human form yet, but she still wanted to make it look like she was bigger and more experienced then I was.

‘Lucy’ asked if she could have some of my Żubrówka and I tried to explain that she wouldn’t like it because it had alcohol in it, but this caused an uproar as if I had just slapped her across the face.
“Whaaaat?!” she screeched, “Do you honestly think that I don’t drink?”
Oh, I’m sure that you drink.
Water, perhaps? And I wouldn’t be surprised if you enjoyed the occasional Smirnoff Ice (nicely packaged lemonade), but my dear girl, you are just another one who gets drunk on wine-gums and ginger-beer. I don’t know whether its placebo or acting or what, but you are ‘drunk’ in some respect. So drunk in fact that it seems like a great idea to take pictures with terrible poses ripped from Vogue looking off into the common sunset and then to go and put them on facebook and let Vanessa from class to comment on them and see how ‘cool’ you are.

Well, I hate you.
All of you. I actually hate you.
Someone hold me back, I’m Patrick Bateman in American Psycho.
This is going to turn into another school shootout. I can’t help it.

Merry Drinking,
Crackity Jones.