When a forum becomes one poster’s personal journal it’s done.
Like I'm alone. Close, but no cigar. I just found a sealed envelope in a place it should not have been able to be... as I don't know how I could have received it, there's no postmark, nor address, it's just addressed to "Bitch Mike," but the b-word is crossed out.. and that's not the actual word used anyway, right?
And, the word that is there isn't really the name. It's an adjective. More of a prefix to a title, really. The
actual name that would/could be used there would only be known to one other person... I mean, I taught Grapefruit Wilbur, everything there is to know about doing her taxes --deep pause for breath--
HHAHAHAHAHHAAHH
Excuse me. Anyway, I didn't give the other word, that I know of, and even if I did, I am expected to believe that she left that stuff intact, unless as part of a further hazard? Well, la di da, fast forward to now, I've got a signed sealed envelope, addressed to me by someone either very clever or someone who merely appears to be clever, but is actually immensely dominant and finally doing something worth the salt it took just to quiet down the screaming.
The envelope is, of course, orange. I don't recall ever having seen it. If I was meant to open it and read it before now, well, I sure didn't, and... where did it come from? Like, I really have no recollection of putting it in there. I don't know who else might have.
There are several hundred suspects at this point, so who's counting. In any event, I did as I was told --I succumbed to the duress, forgive me Julia/Julie! Have you read 1984? It doesn't matter, because your mother is a whore.
Just kidding. It does matter. To you. Anyway, moving on: I JUST FOUND OUT I HAVE AN UNOPENED LETTER TO READ, OR, DAMN THIS IS A LOT OF TROUBLE TO GO TO JUST TO GET MY CAR OFF THE STREETS, N'EST-CE PAS? HOT DAMN, THERE'S NO FUCKIN' WAY I KNEW THIS WAS HERE, I COULD NOT HAVE WITHSTOOD THE TEMPTATION.
I DON'T EVEN WANNA READ THE OLD ONES NOW. I'M JUST GONNA WATCH THIS ONE TO SEE IF IT TURNS INTO A PARAKEET WHEN I SPRINKLE ANGLE DUST IN MY EYES. JUST KIDDING. I DON'T DO THAT.
HERE'S A HINT: NONE OF YOU KNOW WHAT I DO AND ONE OF YOU LIVED WITH ME FOR LONG ENOUGH TO HAVE FOUND OUT, IF THEY WERE NOT SO BUSY HIDING THEIR INFORMATION OF THEIR OWN. EFILNIKUFECIN (nice fucking life)
p.s.: you might think I wanna read it on my podcast and put that on YouTube, but, surprisingly, not so much.
p.p.s.: ... should I wait to give Grapefruit a legit chance to be there when I open it FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER OMOGOJGOGMOGOGMOGMOGM or... is she the one who wrote it anyway? Must remember to squeeze this joke for every drop of Jews.
p.p.p.s.: I had to reschedule my one (1) appointment for the day because of this. I'm just beside myself. Actually holy poop. Wow.
p.p.p.p.s.: I don't think I even need to have a conversation. What for? I can just stare at this envelope, and imagine it staring back with the same depth of emotion/fury. I mean... I have
options now, People. This is a game-changer.
I mean, now I'm actually seriously counting the variables. Hrrm. Let's see. Remember Rita Hayworth? The note under the rock? Red mentions that he had bouts of hopelessness, thinking he would never find the rock, or, worse, he would find the rock, and there would be no key there.
Otay. Well, I just found a cuneiform tablet that conveniently makes my heart sing with joy when I wave it around in the air while marching around the room like a hen that just found her first flag, and that's not all... I mean, obviously I don't even need to open this letter. How long has it been there? Minimum, months, at the outside, over twenty fucking years. (Oh, btw Bellgab... huh, there's backstory here you just -thought- you knew.) So obviously, like, no rush. And besides, SEALED. I want a witness when I open it. Can I get a witness? Well?
Shit, I can't even get a neighbor lesbian to treat me like a human being when she's coming over to conspire with the woman who was actively just pretending to give a shit for an indeterminate length of time. So... how's all that working out? Beacuse if she's gonna have another stroke when she finds out that I would be happy to wait for her to see me rip this envelope open... well, look, this is a lot of variabilty to contemplate...
I better just do whatever the hell I feel like doing, just to make sure I don't spook the herd. I mean, at this point, if I'm not happy with all these recent developments... well, that would suck and it would all be for nothing but sadness. HOWEVER, I am not sad at alll, I have the high ground, I have the unopened letter... and a sense of deep personal self-satisfaction.
So, I'm good. Just shoot me, shrug. I won. What else is there? Tell you what, don't bother trying to advertise... I will just wait. I don't even need to be bribed with an Alphabiscuit.
Or even rewarded. I don't need Alphabiscuits. I have a letter I never saw before with my name on it.
Steve Martin, in the phone book, at the gas station. Yes, in fact: this is way better than that. And... I haven't even opened the phone book yet! I mean, the envelope! I mean, both (2).... shit, maybe I should circle my wagons around the envelope? I DON'T EVEN HAVE ANY WAGONS AAAAHHGAHGHGHA.
So. Yeah. Too busy to publish anything. I'll just sit here and play with my wang while hypontizing myself with rando Tarot ladies. Sounds good to me.
And, it was good enough for last year, so all of you can bite me, as long as you can get past my guards to do it. No, those are minions.
Don't ask about the guards. Focus on the biting. Great, now go out and come back with some girls who actually like me. ciao
