and entering

Rick Astley Gave Me Up, Let Me Down

Rick Astley, of internet fame and suave and
sexy looks, seems like a great guy when you only know him from a YouTube video.
But beware: his spotless shine is solely the result of the reflective surface of
your computer monitor.

It was March 13th, 1987.  Rick and
I were as happy as could be. But as soon as he proposed, our relationship went
where most of Rick's music would go: buried under a pile of bum clothes in the
back of a dark alleyway just south of the traffic light at 18th
Street and Broadway.

When a crossdressing magician came
towards our booth with a ring at a strip cub in Vegas, I was immediately put off
by the fact that Rick had prepared such a tacky proposal. Rick just shrugged.
""""You wouldn't get this from any other guy. Don't tell me you're too blind to
see."" I nearly slapped him in the face. I am young, single, and attractive
enough to be dating a moderately famous singer. I was also angry because I'm not
blind. I carry this cane because I have a weight distribution disorder that
renders me unable to walk without it.

Rick never apologized, as I had
hoped. He just sat there apathetically, telling me that he was """"never gonna say
goodbye,""” which I felt left our discourse incomplete.

Ever since the proposal fiasco,
I've wanted to do something to get my justice: slap him, rip his pictures off my
wall, capitalize on this story with a book deal and a major motion picture.
However, I've been unable to do anything until now. My heart's been aching; I'd
been too shy to say it. But inside, Rick, we both know what's been going on.
Take that, you fucker.

© 2009