Even if you are Howdy Doody’s dopplegänger, I’ve always liked you. Loved even.
That’s when I heard that, instead of finally realizing that Betty Cooper is the best thing since sliced bread, you proposed to that douchebaguette Veronica Lodge. Yeah, she’s loaded. And her Super Sweet 16 party was off the hook. I mean, who can forget Moose doing Jell-O shots off of Miss Grundy? And how she got Kings of Leon to perform is still a mystery. I suspect incriminating photos are in play…
But I digress. Yeah, Ronnie’s a stone-cold fox with that glossy black Megan Fox hair and Fembot body, but she is a serious pill. She treats you like her lapdog (for which I hear she paid a fancy-pants breeder a small fortune). She could have bought you a car with that money to replace that deathtrap of a jalopy you drive. Running boards are so 1935! Even a PT Cruiser would be acceptable to the hunk o’ junk you pollute the streets with.
And hello, check your papers! You’re both 17. Teen marriage is so 1835. Focus on graduating from Riverdale High and get your associate’s degree, why don’t you? If you still want to get hitched to Blair Waldorf’s role model, well then, have a good life as Mr. Veronica Lodge. If you persist in tying the noose, I mean, knot, then I'll have no choice but to hit you so hard the freckles fall off your face.