Ah, Pharmastrist. You had decided to pursue money instead of happiness (being around me on a daily basis) – you were a man after my cold, dead heart. But the cold, pharmacy school to the north in the land of a thousand lakes beckoned to you, and then … in my heart … you were dead.
I remember the first time I saw you was at dinner with LawnCare. You seemed so alive then – so happy to eat good Italian food, and so pleased with the evening. Never did I think that more than just a year later you’d be dead to me. (I also didn’t think at that point that you were wearing women’s shoes or suffering from an anal prolapse, but hey … some surprises are better left discovered than told.)
We’d had a good run of it, you and I, Pharmastrist. We have. (sniffle)
You’ve left me, and I’m not going to lie – I kind of hate you for it. Actually, I really hate you for it. And while I really want to wish you success, I secretly hope for disaster that will bring you happily back to St. Louis where fun adventures and more than one week of summer awaits.
If you end up in St. Louis ever again to live, please know that I will promise not to drop your adopted child down a manhole or into a homeless person’s trashcan as I had threatened to do previously. Perhaps that will sweeten the pot? I didn’t think so.
I will cry because of you. I want you to know that when you leave. When you think of me, think of me crying. And please know, Pharmastrist, that it is all your fault.
RIP: Pharmastrist (2006-2008)