Coming Clean

I feel like a deadbeat dad. No love for the Stick in ages - not even a child support check written on bamboo parchment. So, after all this neglect, I finally got ahold of one of those high-demand tickets to see the Stick in person, 9:30am sharp. But it only gets worse. I slept in. No Stick.

I'd say it's something akin to Charlie throwing out his golden ticket. But that's an insult to the Stick.

Now my dreams are filled with visions of his sad, plump face staring behind bars from which he will never be extricated. For what it's worth, I plan to spend the rest of the night washing away my sins with this collectable bottle of Stick antibacterial soap: