Also, I would like to issue these additional apologies.
- to my green knit army hat with a bright orange skull logo on it: I realize you were just a retarded hat that I bought at a Missouri Wal-Mart to kill time while I was having my oil changed, but some people liked you, and you deserved a better fate than to be puked in. I'm sorry, hat.
- to my voice: although I think you did a pretty kick-ass job ripping through Motorhead's "Ace of Spades" at Live Band Karaoke on Friday, my simulation of Lemmy's strangulatory shriek-gargle was so precise that I seem to have permanently damaged you and have not been able to speak for the last three days. I'm sorry, voice.
- to Lara & Jeff: although I had a lovely time shopping, snacking, and watching cheesy old Driver's Ed movies with you, I'm sorry you had to put up with my raspy, crackly, painful-to-listen-to voice all day yesterday. It must have been unpleasant and no doubt left you wishing I had one of those talking robot sticks they give to people with throat cancer. I'm sorry, Lara & Jeff.
- to my cat Maybelle: I'm sorry to force these gross antibiotics down your gullet twice a day. It can't be any fun at all, and although I'm sure they will ultimately make you feel better, I don't imagine you'll be thanking me for it later. I'm sorry, Maybelle.
- to my crappy novel: I'm sorry I spent Saturday recovering from my Friday-night hangover, sleeping for 14 hours, and feeling sorry for myself because I spent Valentine's Day watching reruns of Futurama, instead of working on you like I was supposed to. I'm sorry, my crappy novel.