Monday, October 24, 2011

Dear Netflix

As you know, months ago you got me addicted to a horrifyingly addictive drug called "Friday Night Lights". I smoked up all the FNL you had in your glove compartment. I knew there were 13 more out there, but you didn't have them. I locked myself in a room and slowly got myself off of FNL by freebasing some Sons of Anarchy, but I can only get that from the clinic once a week. I started to get my life back together.  Then you showed up in a dark parking lot, late at night. You tracked down those last 13 hits of FNL, and you wanted to give me a deal on them, since we have a history. 
So now, I am ignoring my children and locking myself in the bathroom just to get a fix on it. I have six episodes left, then there will never be any again. And maybe my life can move on after that. Unless you get the cast back together for another episode, then make me do unspeakable acts in an alley to earn them.  

 Please get scabies from a rabid panther.

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