Help Me Out, Sean Penn!

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Dude,
I’m in a real tight spot here, bud. Was wondering if you might be able to come out here and bail me out?
It’s nothing major, just a little bit of trouble. Nothing to bother El Chapo about. Nice job with that by the way. But yeah, anyway, if you wouldn’t mind hitting up Rolling Stone and seeing if they’ll finance another “investigative interview” into the jungles of Burma. Again, no big deal. If you want. But please. A man can only eat so much gruel.
Perhaps I should give a bit of context. It all started with a badly timed fart. Right in the middle of the party. The room was already pretty tightly crammed and and dank, so it went from “uncomfortable” to “unpleasant” real quick. Like Drake, but with a fart. Anyway, long story short, I was politely punched in the face and asked to leave the party. Which is fair. I mean, I didn’t want to get laid anyway. I’d rather curl up with my one true love, Smokes Poutine. That’s not sad, right? RIGHT?!
Sorry Sean, got a bit off course there. So I go to Smokes and as I’m walking home, who should cross my path but a beautiful, mysterious woman. As if appearing out of a dream, there she was.
“Looks like a warm poutine” she said in that sultry timbre that reminded me of a female James Earl Jones. Don’t ask.
“It is” I replied. Then, with a smile “be a shame to let this gravy spill all over my face.”
Since that pickup line always works we quickly went back to her place, which she described as a basement apartment. Which was a bit of an understatement, as it was actually a dungeon. Dammit! My love of poutine-based foreplay had foiled me again. I was face to face with Lenny the Loan Shark, who is not an actual shark, but a 6’5” Eastern European man who once spotted me $500 when I was in a time of great need – to pay all those prostitutes I had drizzled cheese curds all over. As you do. I still hadn’t paid him and now I was about to face the consequences. 
“I want my goddamn money, mole rat!” he told me. I replied that I didn’t have the money, so he had his thugs and beautiful lady friend beat the shit out of me. Apparently she got those perfectly toned arms from doing Krav Maga. They boxed me up and shipped me to Myanmar (which I was recently informed is the new, post-colonial name for Burma by the 12 year old local boy who keeps me as a pet to eat food scraps off the floor. They can’t afford a Vacuum, but Westerners with debt go for like six bucks around here). I am living off the small amount of rice they…
OK, you know what, I can’t do this anymore. That was a lie. A stream of consciousness lie, Sean Penn. Truth is, I just need to pay rent and I am too proud to beg to anyone that hasn’t been nominated for an Academy Award and/or domestically abused Madonna back in the 80s (ya, thought we forgot about that, didn’t ya?).
So whatdya say, Pennster? Toss $500 plus utilities my way? I eagerly wait for your response.
Yours in Scams,
 

 

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