PS. Stop Calling Me

Dear So and So,
Perhaps it's my passive agressive nature, but I thought you'd get it by now. 5 calls. At least, 5 that came from your phone. Then there have been the calls from withheld numbers and numbers I didn't recognize. Thanks to you, I screen all unknown numbers. Since when did obsessive persistence become a virtue? I danced with you for five minutes in a club, and now you think we're bffs. You, in all your sobriety, took advantage of a clearly buzzed female and got her phone number, but by no means does that mean you're automatically in. I imagine that where you live must be extremely deprived of female life, that you must cling to the hopes that I will answer my phone.
Believe me, I felt guilt the next day when you called, and I felt guilt when I ignored your call the first two times. Now, I am pissed off. Obviously, I do not want to talk to you. No, not even for your bribes of free hip-hop dance lessons and whatnot. Not even for 1 million dollars would I endure your bipolar communicative skills. Well... maybe I would, but for 1 million dollars, I would also roll around naked in pig squalor.
I've already deleted pictures of you from my camera, and the only reason I have your number still in my phone is so that I can identify your call and avoid you like Britney Spears actively avoids sanity. I've learned my lesson: no more giving out any contact information, and no more dancing with ugly strangers. No more. No more.