Letter to a Friend

Last week an e-pal sent me a note saying they had lost their Internet connection (bloody AOL) and as a result the great, long e-mail they were composing went to that great data dump in the sky. This person invited me to write whatever I wanted in its place and pretend it came from them. What a wonderful idea. No more waiting for return mail, hoping it will be at least semi-coherent and mildly amusing. Now I can just pretend the other half of the conversation and respond in kind. Following is an open response to all my blog pals:

Dear (your name here). It was great to hear from you and to see your latest photos. Despite gaining a few pounds, you look good, especially since having the genital warts burned off. Paisley doesn’t really suit you, but if it helps to drown out the telepathic commands you’ve been receiving from the neighbor’s cat, I say run with it.

In answer to your query, yes, the song “And Then He Kissed Me” by The Crystals has been running through my brain with a bunch of new instructional lyrics. Sample stanzas include, but are not limited to:

If you want to touch the sky
you must be prepared to die
and then he kissed me.

If you want to cast your vote
you must sacrifice a goat
and then he kissed me.

If you want respect from her
you must worship Lucifer
and then he kissed me.

If you want her to love you
you must roll in badger poo
(note – sometimes the Great Magnet tells me “you must trip a kangaroo” instead)
and then he kissed me.

And so on and so forth. I’ll bet stuff like this happens to you all the time. In fact, it’s so mundane let’s just forget it and move on.

I haven’t had a drink of alcohol in twenty-four days now. My health has declined, I have less energy, and I no longer see a reason to live. Fortunately I’m too apathetic to commit suicide, so I’ll just continue to exist until next week when I can once again enhance my life with beer.

Well, that’s all for now. I’m sure you’ll want to get back to that crate of plastic explosives that just arrived. Let me know the next time you’ll be headlining at the Slutty Puppy so I can drop by the bank and load up on quarters.

Toodles, hugs, sincerely, and so long

Grant