Oh, COME ON, NOW. You are just blatantly trying to rid me of any dignity I may have had left after going to see 17 Again. In the theatre. Of my own free will. You think you can just outgrow your awkward High School Musical phase and be all sassy up in the pages of Nylon, like you and your singing cohorts weren't the bane of my existence for years? Well, that's just fine. I see what your game is. And guess what?
YOU WIN, ZAC, YOU FUCKING FOX. I give in. You are so bangable, I would even get a time machine, go back and bang you during the awkward HSM years, just so I could call you up now and be all "Oh, hey, Zac. Yeah, it's S. Riiight. Yeah, it's been a long time. How've you been? Goooood. Me? Oh, I'm just peachy. Listen, what are you doing tonight? Cuz, I'mma need you to come over here and fuck the shit outta me, for old time's sake, m'kay? That'd be greaaaaat."
Call me,
S.
Friends and family: if you can't look me in the eye tomorrow, I understand completely.
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