Dear Ashehole*,

We sponsored Laugh Your Asheville Off because, well, who doesn’t like to laugh, and we wanted to try a new experiment in marketing, but more importantly, we wanted to have fun. It’s not often the Bruisin’ Ales staff gets a Friday night somewhere other than the store. While we were taking down our booth just before the end of show, you seemed coy, with your super-retro, RunDMC all-black Adidas get-up. You were upset we weren’t serving beer, just displaying it. You needed ice. You wanted a Sugar Mama’s cookie. (And likely, stole one, too.) As you lurked and theater employees caught on, we’re sure your staff-dumped cocktail was just enough to get those pesky larceny thoughts a-rollin’.

Just because you weren’t allowed inside the show, because, duh, you didn’t have a g*ddamn ticket, does not give you license to rummage through our goods. While I worried before (and during) the show about folks stealing from the beer display (thereby, only half-able to enjoy the show), little did I know that it was the handbag you were watching, Adidas Avenger. While I walked away for two f*cking minutes to put stuff in storage, you managed, in the presence of people, to unzip my purse, then unzip the bank bag and take all the cash. You are speedy, Adidas Avenger. So, while I partly blame myself for leaving it there, blinded by my utopian vision of Asheville, I can’t go without saying you are just a Class A Jerk.

Because of you, too, we were forced to extend the already very long day we had while waiting for the police to file a report. So, my lack of sleep last night has transcended into more of a delusional anger. But, at any rate, I thank you for leaving me with my credit cards, wallet, ID, Tylenol, and Zyrtec. Hell, Zyrtec practically costs $200, anyway. 

So, here’s a big, fat finger for ya, Ashehole. You made everything completely unfunny. We hope you spent it wisely, though, such as on a bad batch of meth.

You will forever suck,

Julie

*term courtesy of the LYLAS