Dear Mr. Webb, or as you fancy yourself, Dr. Webb.
I see that you have finally, FINALLY published my book. Did it not occur to you that I have been sitting here in the motel 6 of downtown Albuquerque for nearly a year now, waiting for you to make it happen?
And?
Where are all my sales?
My adoring fans?
Surely you've told all the television stations? Surely you've notified Anderson Cooper of the silver hair, and Glenn Beck of the peach fuzz cheeks?
Anyway, my massage starts in ten minutes. Please snap to it and get me some fans. My ego awaits, Dr. Webb, and it is not a patient subroutine!
Cheers!
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