Dear Houston,
It's not you. It's me. You're great, you really are... but you just aren't giving me what I need anymore. You have had over 16 years and STILL you've failed to produce Jacob with his basic necessities: A boy who is Scottish/named James (I'm really not picky anymore), a six pack, a letter to Hogwarts, and a voice like Nina Simone. On a scale from 1 to 10, you're chillaxing around a 4. But wait! There's still time. (A year and half to be precise.) You better step up your game, because lemme tell ya... Prague is looking real good right about now. Granted, I don't speak Czechoslovakian, so I'll just have to communicate my desire for one night stands through my eyes and excessive eyebrow raising.
It's not too late to turn this beat around, H-Town... step it up, brah.
Your forever faithful (unless I get a boyfriend, then I'll ditch this blog joint) blogster, Jacob.
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