Yo, Tanner! Get your dick over here; I’ve got a Four Loko with your name on it.

Yeah, bro, so far my summer has been tight tight tiiiiiight — thanks for asking. I’ve spent some time at my cottage hotboxing capsized canoes and rolling my schlong off in my basement, pretending I’m at a Chainsmokers’ set. Other than that, I’ve just been reading a shit ton of Woolf.

Woolf, dude. Virginia Woolf. You haven’t heard of her? Jeez, Tanner, I didn’t know you were such a virg.

She’s so fuckin’ steezy, man. I started reading her was because I was seeing this girl Michelle who was like, “Every guy should read Virginia Woolf,” and I was trying to, you know, so I was like, “All right, I’ll check out this bitch-ass Woolf-ass hoe.”

Remember the very first time you watched Borat? And you were like, okayyyyy, TRUE, now I get what people are talking about when they talk about “art”? To the Lighthouse was like that. It made me realize so many things. Like, the meaning of life? Ever heard of it? It isn’t some Buddha-ass nirvana shit, Tanner. It’s the “little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.” Shotgunning a Four Loko together and then punching a hole through the wall is a miracle, Tanner. Tanner. It’s a miracle.

TIME, dude! Time is a relative concept. In To the Lighthouse, a day goes by in 200 pages, but 10 years go by in 20. A Chainsmokers’ set is usually an hour, but if you’re on acid it’s 48 months long. Slamming a 10 feels like a beautiful infinity, but in reality, it only lasts two minutes.

Yeah, bro — I’m wearing a dress. It’s just something I’ve been trying out, to challenge my internalized “masculinity.” Masculinity is a construct, Tanner, invented by bros to repress hoes. You’ll learn that when you read Orlando, you giant fucking noob.

What? Of course I’m crying. “And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.” I think about that line once every ten minutes, and every time I do it’s like zing, oh look, my dick is hard. Listen, dude, I’m going to pull something out of my pants right now, and what it’s going to be is a limited edition box set of Vee W’s collected works. Chill, bro, it’s not that weird. I have to keep these paradigms of Victorian modernism safe, and there’s no place safer than my peen.

I’m not even gonna lie, dude — you’re a fuckin’ PUSS if you don’t take Mrs. Dalloway right now. Take it, Tanner. Take it. I’ll walk you home after the party and read you the first chapter. I’ll do all the accents. But only if you promise to read the rest. And don’t just read it. Internalize it. Know it. Bone it. I did. Just kidding. No I’m not. Look at us, Tanner. Look at us, in this kitchen. Look at the contrast between my massive pecs and this delicate silk slip — beautiful. Soon this moment will be in the past, bro; it’ll slip beneath the tide of the present, it’ll be washed away into the sea of memory… Feel this moment, Tanner. Hold on to it. Hold on to life. Death might just be the sweetest release of all. Until then… we live. Until then, we live.

Anyway, dude. How’s your summer going?