You: A potato.
I love you, potato. Don't play hard-to-get. Don't play your starchy tuber games with my heart. Come, and let's dance in the afternoon drizzle and eat bonbons and go see your apartment on the Upper West Side. And damn you for making this into a missed connection from craigslist.
-Smokey Robinson
P.S. I bet you thought I was going to comment on Hillary beating down the black man in New Iowa yesternight, didn't you? Nope. I ain't got nothing to say on the subject. This is like the early goings of a game of Hollywood Squares, when the contestants are still feeling each other out, and when Whoopi Goldberg in the center square is still totally up-for-grabs.
P.P.S. Speaking of which, Whoopi = black AND a woman!! Is that not the dream hybrid Democratic candidate!?!? CLINTOBAMA! CLINTOBAMA! REPUBLICANS SHALL WILT BEFORE THEE! HALLELUJAH! QUICK, someone get me some Tylenol - my brain hurts from all the good ideas. And get me a potato too, because I'm lonely.
P.P.P.S. Whoever did it, by the way, thanks for the shoutout in the 181st Street subway station yesterday.

I assume "BAB" is short for "BABE" or "BABY," or that perhaps that's as far as you got before the cops got there with their cold, hard anti-expressive handcuffs. I'll take Graffiti FOR THE WIN! And a potato, to keep me company during the lonely nights!