Dear Bobo,

I was laying, uh, sitting, around my new condo with my boyfriend last night enjoying this movie when that famous betrayal scene came on. When Salvatore Tessio says, “Tell Mike it was only business” I suddenly realized I should have at least whispered something similar in your ear when I was planting the shiv.

You deserved at least that. Because it was business. In my defense, where would I come up with this kind of booty? Me, a grocery checker? C’mon Bobo, wake up.

I mean, I can’t make a living slinging bullshit stories to the rich ladies at the barn. (Although, it worked on you) I needed an opportunity and you presented it. What’s a girl to do? I didn’t tell you to go into detox that day.

You made it easy to squirrel away your belonging while you were reeling from the mind numbing effects of Seroquel. After they took your belt and shoe laces. Have to say, I never felt so much financial freedom.

You didn’t sense my treachery when I cut you off intimately on Sunday, May 13, 2013, at 2:30 pm? With that flimsy excuse? Boy, you must have been distracted, or loaded.

Now you’re out there shooting that big mouth off and making my new boyfriend look at me funny. For your information, I am not a rat. My new hair color may belie that fact but I resent the implication.

Bobo, you’re screwed, and nothing you can do will unscrew you. But knowing you the way I do, your outrage has given you wings. You love it, you miserable son of a bitch. Admit it.

You always appreciated a good screwing and here it is. Ha!

You’re a vicious Irish bastard, and I have a feeling you will never let up until you torture me into an early grave. Would I be correct in that assumption?

(yes)