Dear Ben,
This letter is going to be short because I’m very busy and I have a band concert to go prepare for. And recording the letters? I think that would be a pretty cool feature. We could just include a link to hear it or download, etc., and it’s not like we’re forcing it down our listeners throats, because they don’t need to listen to it if they don’t want to.
So yes, do it whenever you feel like.
I’m also going to bring another segment into my letters, called OBSESSION OF THE BRAIN. And It’s going to be my spotlight. But it’s going to mainly be new bands or anything else that interests me. It’s going to be on Thursday, and whenever I feel like it. Heh.
THIS WEEKS OBSESSION:
category – band,
METRO STATION
I haven’t boughten their CD yet, but I’ve listened to a whole bunch of their songs on youtube and I really like them. More on the techno-y side, but give ‘em a try and see what you think. Sort of remind me of Cute Is What We Aim For a little bit.
Since this is my first spotlight, I won’t put a rating, but I normally will. (Plus, I can’t give them an accurate rating yet)
Time for me to go now.
Much love,
Your friend who goes through iTunes gift cards like crazy,
Carla
P.S. You made an empty P.S.
P.P.S. Enlighten me on what the (words in the parenthesis) are. I’m stupid and I don’t know. :]
P.P.P.S. “Oh no,” Adela gasped, staring at the carnage. “We need to get out of here, and fast. We must warn the others, It is vengeful.”
Carla nervously glanced at Ben. “Will it come for us?”
Adela studied the smokes path, twirling through the village before rising to the sky. “I don’t think so,” she said, still cautiously watching it. “It got what it wanted, whatever that was.”
Ben, who had been silent until now, muttered, “Then we must go find out what that is.”
Carla swore, forgetting the presence of Adela. “Are you fucking serious? Ben, we can’t go there! We’ll get eaten or killed, and we have families and –”
Adela cut in. “He’s right,” she said, in an eerie voice.
Carla glanced at both of them, convinced they had lost their minds. But she realized she had no other choice – it was to go with them and risk death, or not go with them and risk death. She sighed, defeated. “Let’s go then,” she muttered, and down the hill they walked.
P.P.P.P.S. FAIL. It’s 13, 5, or 135. (and 18 is my soccer number =D )
