March 11, 2008
Mr. Johnathan Bizarre (IF that IS your REAL name..... hmmm...)
Listen, I forgot to tell you about that thing (that REALLY isn't important) yet I'm driven to remind you, that previously (in case you forgot) we REALLY should talk about it (I mean, unless you've forgotten & I don't remember either).
Either way, we can sit down (or stand up) and discuss it - yet, what difference does it really matter (if you think about it). One way or the other, the point is, it REALLY depends on how it's looked at (by me, you or any other party).
So, the ultimate importance of the matter at hand (and the situation involved) is really dependent upon (A) the ultimate situation, (B) the matter at hand, (C) who's looking at it, and (D) why (really).
Please feel free to call me cellular-phonically or via facsimile.
The matter at hand (or any there of) is quite important or inconsequential none the less.
Tina called. She "claims" (although I have YET to believe her) that the turtle (that you & I owned & PROMISED to take care of 50/50) got out of the hammock, ate ALL the brioche (handmade by my late great-grand friend) then ran amuck the conurbation to EVERYONE'S dismay... Except Steve's (of course).
Long story short, PLEASE (at your earliest convenience) take a dekko or a shufti at some (ANY) member of the fair sex's yahoo... or ding-lang.
Afterwards, please report immediately back to me on your surmise of said crack.
Right now I'm fryin' wieners. Two of 'em. In my fryin' pan. Mmmm, it'z gonna be real good eatin'. (seriously).
Welp, guess I should wrap it up.
Don't forget the meeting on Tuesday. Be there EARLY (not late like the time before the last time before the first time we had the third meeting rescheduled). Wear orange. ALL orange. Bring your cousin's maid & (for GOD'S SAKE!) bring the Jello mold(s).
Sagacity is salient.
Moist Regards,
Keith "Clevis" Dion
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in reply..
March 17, 2008
My dearest Mr. Dion,
Your letter was received with all due fanfare and pageantry. Trumpets were blared by squat sentries in puffy pants while frolicking cherubs tossed rose hips ahead of the approaching messenger. He knelt before me and presented your letter with dignity and heed. The queen even mentioned his heed. "My, what heed," she said.
"What?"
"His heed. Did you notice his heed?"
"No, I guess I didn't."
"You never do."
"..bitch.."
"What?"
"Nothing, just enjoying all the excessive heed, my little snapdragon."
So, Mr. Dion, the letter was finally placed into my hands by your heedful servant and it almost seemed a shame to lop off his head after the delivery but, as you know, that is our custom so off came his noggin to the gleeful cheer of the crowd.
While this is not a criticism, I must note that his head didn't roll very far. I hope to receive your next letter from a messenger with a much rounder head. And perhaps with a little less heed, so I won't have to listen to the ol' ball and chain cluck on about it.
Now, about these "claims" from Tina. First of all, it doesn't even make sense that the turtle got out of the hammock. How, in the name of me, could a turtle get out of a hammock? Turtles can't jump, and they can't climb along ropes. Why, the very idea. Honestly.
I'll lay you ten to one odds that she ate him. She's probably poopin' out his scrotumy little head right now as I wiggle my ink feather, pretending to write this. I must say it really cheeses me off thinking of that turtle-chompin' hussy squeezin' off a reptilian land loaf at our expense.
I know, it's better to be cheesed off than cheesed on, but that doesn't soften the blow.
Well, I'm glad to hear you are frying wieners again. By the way, why are wieners always wet when you take them out of the package? They shouldn't be wet. They have skin. All the wetness should be inside the wiener. I don't like a wet wiener. When I reach into a package of wieners I don't want to pull out some slimy wet wiener that squirts out of my fist whenever I give 'er a good squeeze. Oscar Mayer has had decades to work on this. I've a good mind to dash them off a note demanding they de-wettenize their wieners at once or face the consequences.
Hmmph. Wet wieners. Really cheeses me off.
All right, bucko, tell Tina she's a blasted fibber and she owes us a new turtle. A huge one this time. One o' them big ol' turtles that's been alive since George Washington was president. They're supposed to be wicked smart. Like you can train 'em to proof-read and stuff. But they take forever. You're always standing over their shoulders going, "All right, already! Move on to the next sentence! I'm trying to pay the rent over here!"
Squeezing the wet wiener, I remain,
your most humble and obedient servant,
John Bizarre
Copyright 2008 John Bizarre
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