another letter

Dear Guy who stole out T-shirt in Springfield,

You are a dumb ass.

For one,
you stole a t-shirt
from an impoverished band,
even thought we kept playing
that stupid slow song so you could keep
dancing with that slutty girl.

That was for you,
not for us.

I saw you dancing,
I saw you trying, terribly,
to put your moves on,
and I figured I'd do what
I can to help by letting
the song played on.

And how did you thank me?

You stole one of our t-shirts,
that you could have easily purchased,
you dumb son of a bitch.

But that's not the best part,
no, my joy came in redemption.

Here is some free advice,
if you are going to stay in Springfield
and steal from other bands' merch tables,
don't stand outside of the venue,
right after the show,
with the shirt dangling out of your back pocket.

That almost insulted me more.

We know who we sell t-shirts to,
we remember because it's usually
only a few, awesome, generous,
helpful people.

I saw you with the shirt dangling,
tell-tale green in your pocket.

I felt a rush of adrenaline as I asked
Kristen, "did You sell the dude a t-shirt?"

"nope"

"me neither"

Solid.

The confrontation
was quick and relatively painless.

I asked you,
you denied,
I asked again,
you confessed.

I yanked the t-shirt
out of your douchbag pocket,
and I didn't appreciate your last
ditch effort at saving face,
by saying "whoa, man... don't take my pants off"

Your idiot friends didn't think it was funny,
and neither did I.

It was pathetic,
you are a dumbass,
and I've got my fucking
t-shirt back, bitch.

-p