Dear Mr. Clean,

Dear Mr. Clean (and the TTC),
I have a proposal for you. Mr. Clean, I will accept free products up to and including magic erasers in exchange for free advertising on the TTC. TTC, I will accept free advertising and metropasses in exchange for my cleaning services. Area hospitals, the same offer stands for you.

I will provide my renowned cleaning skills to the TTC and hospitals in the GTA in exchange for metropasses, gauze, and question-free stitching. Yes, I can turn those subway stations whatever colour they are under that grime. Yes, I can remove the stains from your walls. Yes, I can even brighten the colour of your carpets and seats.

I have long wished to scrub TTC vehicles with magic erasers and a little water. In fact, I've considered using my own magic erasers to clean up the buses while I ride them, but I've decided that would be a little weird. I've also considered layering everything I touch with a fresh plastic tarp, but I don't have any.

Please, for the love of all that is good and clean, accept my proposals. I'm not joking. Seriously. Let me clean! Don't make me get my Windex!

Most Sincerely,
Katherina M Yerro

I Win!!!

You know what's funny? When you do something bad but you don't realize it until after it's happened. And then suddenly, the voices in your head are screaming that you should have known and you're such a fucking idiot and you should be punished for being a bad person. And no matter what you've done in the past, what good or bad, you're a terrible, no-good, bad bad person and you should die. Suddenly you're hoping for a car crash so you can get out the words, "D.N.R." and hope it comes to that, and if not, you've got another solution. But that solution means you're a stupid terrible no-good bad bad person. Oh well, it works.

Since the voices are in my head...does that mean I win?

I hope you all die.

You know, out of the 18 years I've been alive, I've probably spent 1 year of that waiting for other people.

I'm going to punish everyone who has ever made me wait more than an hour. Watch out, I might plant knives in seats so you sit down and stab yourself in the ass. Or maybe I'll spread rumours about you. Perhaps you're an easy lay if people just try you. I might just poison your food so you spend a day or two vomiting constantly. Oh, I probably won't do any of those things. It'd be stupid after posting this blog up.

I've got to go set up some traps now.