Home, David Vickers!
I can’t tell you how happy I was to see you again, in spite of the greasy apron, bin full of dirty dishes and hair net. Or maybe because of the apron and hair net. It’s been awhile, but I always knew you would come back when you were down on your luck or smelled a get rich quick scheme in the air.
It was nice of you to stop by and say hello to Vicky, but I don’t think Charlie appreciated the not so subtle innuendo about your past indiscretions with his current girlfriend. At least that’s the impression I got from the “who is this guy and what the hell is he talking about?” look on his face. Even though you weren’t invited to stay for breakfast, at least Vicky didn’t take back your house key. That’s a good sign, right?
I was sorry to hear about your short lived television career in the unfortunately titled “Super Model Murder Club”. Hollywood is a fickle lady to that business we call “show”. But whatever the reason, I am glad to have you back. Especially when you can stick it to Jared and Natalie with the glee of a little boy on Christmas morning. I admire the confidence and determination of your blackmail. You don’t back down in the face of Clint’s shotgun or Jar Jar’s pitchfork. Your courage is to be admired, as is your shirtless torso. Keep it up. They may have you tied to a chair with leather straps (which in certain circumstances would not be such a bad thing), but I am 50% sure you will come out of this ahead.
Like Mary Poppins when the wind changes direction, I know you will leave us when your luck changes, no matter how much we want you to stay. But know this, David Vickers, I will think of you often and fondly while I count the days until my favorite scoundrel returns.
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