I know this is not a substitute for a ‘real blog post’, but while I drum up one of those in the next few days (promise!), here’s something that entertained me that you must read. Sorry to the person who wrote this but, it’s too good not to share. Gold really. Don’t worry person, your identity will remain a secret, so don’t stop writing me!
Subject: Space Travel
Mr. Pringle,
Hello there. It’s been a short while. I guess you’re wondering what I’ve been up to–and guess what? I am finally ready to tell you. Huge emo-sigh. I have spent the last several months designing a very complex and highly efficient media driven rocket engine in order to propel myself into complete and total obscurity. I modeled it after you. Let me just say that it has been a LA-BORE intensive (spelling?), near-insurmountable task, wrought with communication breakdowns, lack of internet access, world travel, over sleeping, bouts of both diarrhea and vegan-ism, not to mention an extremely rudimentary understanding of aeronautical engineering. There was even talk of love in Scandinavia to boot. After months of being on the dark side of the moon, I haven’t even gotten the damn helmet working. Oh, f*** dude, take.
It’s easy, see:
Well, guess the f’ what?…I’ve been rock climbing out in the world someplace. Sometimes here. Sometimes there. Sometimes at that place too. I crushed it. I am crushing it. I will crush it. I’m just clinging to shit all over the place. Schling! Nope. I am not on the rope. I am not on the pad. IM ON IT. And you? You even come here to read about it, freak, because you do it too. That is some seriously vicarious tin-can-action. Some “Girlie-Maan” crumpling shit. And yes, I have done that one. And yes, I have done this one. AND I have also done the other one you are thinking of–onsight, mo-fo. I am on the scene. I am on your tip. I am straight trippin dog. I have waka’d and flaka’d my way to where I be, am and is. I have done it with one arm. I have been to The Joshua Tree my friend, and I still haven’t found what I’m looking for–you feel me? Are you picking up what I am laying down? Do you smell what I’m stepping in? Word.
Or, “words” one might say. Pull on the f–ing draws if you have too, but clip the proverbial chains bro. I am your Peter Parker, your Clark Kent, your Pepper Potts (cos’ Iron Man was a tool too). I am the Rukia to your Ichigo Kurasaki and I know what is good for you. Use those squeezers for something other than yanking for 60 God damn minutes, and write me a, uh, well…um.. a love song, ‘cos I asked for it, ‘cos I need one, you see…
If you want to get lied to, then turn on the Weather Channel. If you want to generate more buzz than a bumble bee, write some shit down and let’em eat cake.
Love,
❉.
p.s. Enzo Oddo may do the frikin’ NAR at Clark before you do? WTF? It’s enough to make me hanker for Freedom fries and Liberty toast. The little communist.
He also wrote at the end that he was JK’ing. So it’s all good. And to all my friends who I don’t keep in close enough contact with and don’t update my blog enough (at all) for and who’s emails and FB messages I let slip throgh the cracks, I miss you and you’re always in my thoughts. Ja bless. One Love.
Now I have to Wiki Ichigo Kurasaki…
You little hoser. That dude was right!!