Hey man, I met this girl, Rachel. She works at an ice cream store. Twenty-two. Beautiful. Total pathological liar. Don’t know how I pulled it off, but we’re getting married August 15th, on the 30th street beach in Avalon. I’d love for you to be a groomsman, and obviously Amanda is invited. We’re just gonna have a justice of the peace and everyone is going to wear football uniforms (you gotta supply your own.)
It’s BYOB and for the reception we’re gonna get loaded and play a game of football, full pads, full-contact, leave your bullshit at home. They’ll prob’ly be a thousand people there, so it might get confusing. Do your best. Plus, no one really has uniforms to indicate what team they’re on, but I’m 100% committed to this idea: It’s Rachel’s dream so we’re fucking doing it!
In lieu of gifts, we don’t want shit! Nothing! Nothing from nobody! Rachel makes good money off her tips and we don’t need anybody! You hear me!!! We’re gonna take on this world and we’re gonna make it!
Hope you and Amanda can make it. God bless. RSVP by just, ya know, replying to this message.
P.S.
Do you think I’ll be murdered by a serial killer? Rachel keeps talking about how it’s going to happen.
