The letter

Jun 3, 2009 at 5:00 am

Before I get started, I’d like to address a concern that was recently brought to my attention by one of you who apparently wishes to remain anonymous.

It was written on a piece of paper, tied to the back of a turtle and thrown through my open living room window. Unfortunately, it landed on my fancy coffee table and broke an old mirror that had been handed down in my family for, I don’t know, about a million years. Bummer.

I had been watching the latest episode of “Breaking Bad.” It was the one where that stupid junkie bitch pukes up and chokes to death in her sleep, and Walt just stands there and watches. Damn, that is cold. At least he had the decency to cry about it, right? I mean, he isn’t completely unredeemable, right? That show is hilarious.

There was a commercial break, and that Prius commercial came on, you know, the one with the all the little kids dressed like flowers and stuff, waving their arms around. Man, I can’t take my eyes off that one no matter how many times they show it. The guys who made that commercial should win an award for making a really good commercial or something.

And after that I went into the kitchen for something, and then there was something else, but after a few, I noticed the turtle crawling around on my coffee table with a string tied around the thick part, you know, the shell? And it’s holding something on its back that looks like a napkin or something. It looked like the turtle had a blanket. It was hilarious. Who ever heard of a turtle using a blanket? Turtles don’t use blankets. I was crying, I was laughing so hard.

After a minute, I picked up the turtle and pulled the string. It was a really nice little bit of string. I had to admire it, and I thought to myself (because there wasn’t anybody else there to think to) that it could come in handy someday when I am trying to bind together some important elements. Until then, I thought I might keep it with my collection of valuable instrumentalities: my wallet, my constitution, my sieve, my toenail clippers, my lightning rod, my juice harp. I have so many nice things.

So this piece of paper was covered with this smudgy mess of greasy red writing. It was almost illegible, but after looking at it for a minute, I realized that it was written backwards. Now my interest was piqued. I have a special talent for reading stuff backwards (e.g. “ffuts”); I don’t even need a mirror, which is good, because as I said before, mine was broken. I specialize in being able to recognize words that are the same both forward and backward, like “tomato tomato” and “Please pass the ketchup.” Oh my, that’s hilarious. “Anticipation is making me wait. It’s keepin’ me wa-aa-aa-aa-aa-uh-tin’.” Ha ha ha. Ha ha.

So, ha ha, the note, ha ha, it says, “Hey, Jack Ass. Who are you talking to? It sounds like you’re talking to somebody, but I’m the only one here. Who do you think you’re talkin’ to?” And it was signed, “A. Friend,” with a period after the “A” like it was short for something, which I thought was really strange.

I went through the list of all of the people I have ever known, but I couldn’t find anybody by that name. I started to think that maybe the turtle had been delivered to the wrong place; my name isn’t Jack Ass, after all. But really, I guess I’ll answer to anything. You can call me professor, or Mr. Curry, or whatever. Some people call me Fred. One time, somebody yelled out, “Hey, Loser!,” and I was like, “Huh? What?” It was hilarious.

So I don’t know who you are. But it’s really none of my concern, is it, A. Friend? You can be whoever you want to be.

As for that voice you hear? That’s not me. It’s very quiet where I am. They don’t let us talk out loud. We get tape on our mouths if we don’t shut up right this minute. One more word and you’re going downtown!

So, if you are hearing voices, you may need professional help. Professionals are great. Very handy. They’re a lot better than friends. Seriously.

And now, please join me in singing “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”


Correction: “La Jetee” (1962) was made by Chris Marker, not Chris Mark, as I reported last time. Sorry if my error made it impossible for you to find that movie.