Jazz Spazz

Dear pasty white guy with the flappy arms, protruding gut and full-on Jazz uniform with white head band who danced in a very scary way right in front of me at the Jazz game last night:

All attention is not good.  You must learn this.  Pronto.

Your facial expressions when you jerk around are scary and weird.  Try smiling more.

I could understand your behavior – and even forgive your behavior - if you were “special.”  I truly thought you were.

I was told… you are not.

Sad.

It is heartbreaking that you crave attention more than you crave normalcy. 

And I really wish you weren’t RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME distracting me from the very beautiful Kyle Korver.

(OH MY he’s pretty.)

You are not.

I tried to join in and dance like I was special. 

I am not.  I failed.

That is me in the white shirt and black belt behind you spazz dancing (how the H**L did I come off looking SO FAT??).  Husband is next to me.  We think you’re dumb. 

As our friend who was stuck sitting next to you so eloquently put it, “I paid an effing lot of money to come to this effing game.  You stand up in front of me again I’m going to break your effing face off.  So sit your a** down in your effing seat.”

We’re not super good friends. 

Obviously.

Because he doesn’t letter swear.

Btw, I’d love to know…how in the WORLD did you get that floor ticket?? I understand you’re there every game trying to “get on TV.”

Please save me from you ever ever again.

Warmly,

Me 

P.S.  Thanks for shaving under your arms.  Very considerate of you.  And sad that you had the foresight to do this.