Dear DC:
Oh, this is precious.
You think that, just because I've been gone eight months, you can still get a rise out of me by trading for my (admittedly polarizing) quarterback? You think I'd take something like that personally, don't you?
DC, you are correct.
Now, DC, I know this has as much to do with the usual breathtaking forward-thinking of the Eagles' front office as anything else, but I am not talking to them right now.
I am talking to you.
So, since you insist on being yourself, let me make a few things clear.
DC, I prefer my cramped walkup apartment with no A/C to my old 1200-square-foot, rooftop pool and gym, 24-hour front desk Mass Ave shangri-la any day. That is how glad I am to not be with you.
DC, New York is more interesting, better-looking and more virile than you will ever be.
DC, they have Five Guys here. So I REALLY don't need you anymore.
DC...okay, DC, you still have Ben's and the 9:30 Club. You've got me there. And IOTA. But that's technically in Virginia, so not germane to our discussion. God, they have good fries at IOTA...
DC, Jeff Laurie may make me want to kick puppies sometimes, but Dan Snyder? Right. Discussion over before it starts, DC, and you know it.
DC, nine times out of ten...NO...nineteen times out of twenty...I was faking it.
DC, I will take the vomit and blood-spattered streets of First Avenue over any of your damn cherry blossoms any day.
DC, you may take my money, you may take my quarterback, but you will never take my freedom.
And I sweartagod, DC, if you win a Super Bowl this year, I will get on a Bolt bus, and I will come down there, and I will cut you.
And, DC, if we win a Super Bowl this year, I am deleting this blog post.
I hate you, DC. God, I hate you.
XO
R
PS Oh, and DC? If you're wondering why I live in New York and not Philadelphia, I will thank you not to change the freakin' subject. Jerk.
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