Dear Stomach,

I treat you better than anything or anyone. I give you all the nutrients and scrumtralescence you so deserve. You're constantly awarded with such diversity, rivaled only by Toronto or a Schwabian portfolio. I don't play cruel tricks on you, nor deprive you of sustenance for extended periods of time. I generally give you what you need every 90 minutes or so. Rocky sit-ups to combat weakness; Jameson to weaken any combative bacteria; a Jazz apple a day; not too much gorging after curfew--certainly nothing made too fast. I always try to consider what's in your best interest, as you are the blessing of my existence. I don't treat you as though I'm merely filling up with unleaded, but rather spoiling you with the fruits of a palate's quest. I follow you anywhere, like a nose scouring for Fruit Loops.

I appreciate you.

Thanks,

Mgmt