Dear Sarah,
What—and I cannot stress this enough—dafuq?
That could be the whole letter, as it really captures the essence of the white-hot, slightly horny rage I feel every time I watch you cockblock yourself with that fucking Nokia, but I honestly feel bad for you, so I’ll spell it out.
YOU SHOULD TURN OFF YOUR PHONE AND FUCK KARL.
Oh my god, girl, how is this even a choice you are weighing??? Here is what we know about your mentally ill brother: He is in some kind of safe, secure facility with professionals to take care of him (and, apparently, give him unlimited phone time). Here is what we know about Karl: He is BURNING LAVA HOT, and his crotch is currently pressed—gently, consensually—against your leg.