At least once a week, I invite fellow RvD writer, Becca Levine, to hang out. But try as I might to organize sushi dinners, beach hang outs, etc, she always has an excuse. In fact, last night she said, "I can't. I'm getting dinner with my landlord."
Are you kidding me? Is this the beginning of a '90's horror movie starring Nev Campbell? First he asks you to dinner, then when you show up, he impales you with a shovel, puts your body in the trash incinerator, and uses your ashes to fertilize the garden.
And yet, to Becca, an evening that potentially ends in cremation is still more appealing than us two ladies drinking margaritas on a patio of a Mexican restaurant and playing "Marry, Fuck, Kill" with the men of RvD (always KILL Greg Wendling).
Well, I won't stand for second place to the landlord. You've left me no other choice. I must murder you, Becca Levine.
Since Becca loves art - she sells it for a living - here are some ideas I've been toying with, any one of which would be a great way to murder Becca (click to enlarge):
YOU DID THIS TO YOU, BECCA.