Oh, Cruel World!

By Dig Reader

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To the pseudo troubadour:

When you approached me, I tried to be friendly. I told you, in all honesty, that my connection was out, but that you could probably find some pot over in Allston. You looked young, so I did not think it odd that you had flown out from Venice Beach to see Boston.

But you were not here to look at colleges as you had originally said. And when I asked you how "doing the whole Bob Dylan thing" was panning out, your asininity was as evident as the blank look on your face.

You, my friend, are nothing but a dropout with a rich stepdaddy. A trustafarian leech to society. I do not care that you're a "wanderer," or a "shiftless citizen of the world." No, you may not sleep at my apartment—there's a fine line between being a good samaritan and a fucking fool. Do yourself a favor and either jump on that boat to Europe or get the hell out of my face.

Send your anonymous gripes and grouses to letters@weeklydig.com, or to Dig Department of Gripes, 242 E. Berkeley St., 2nd Flr., Boston, MA 02118. Crybaby.