As of today, I have enough friends. I'm not taking on any more. I get enough hassles from the ones I have already without taking on new meat. So, from here on in, no room at the Lucy-inn. You're either already in or you're out in the cold. Everyone who I consider my friend will recieve a Lucy Friendship Pack in the post, containing some or none of the following: a lock of my hair, a handwritten poem about mountains, a copy of my typing certificate from Transition Year (22wpm) or a photo of my dog. Don't come crying to me if you don't get your Friendship pack; I will merely fix you with a frank stare and repeat slowly: 'Everyone who I consider my friend...'.
PS: Some of my original friends may, of course, die. In fact, at some point they all will. To remedy this problem I propose to draw up a panel from which replacements will be drawn. To apply for a place on this panel, please forward your name and favourite cast member of The O.C. to my HQ. Any applicant who suggests lazy-eyed teen alco 'Marisa' will be immediately dismissed and a team of rabid dogs despatched to their home. Or Marie. Whichever I have handy, really.