Reginald,
Thank-you for waking me before sunrise. I had just fallen asleep when you forced your note beneath my door. Sarah was beside me and we had just entered the sleeping phase--you know I have trouble sleeping when there is a bird in my bed. I tried to suggest she go home, but she preferred to nuzzle. In other words, I am sleepless and it is largely your fault.
Blah blah blah, I went to Ireland with a half-naked girl. Well done. Quit your bragging--do you know I felt-up her cowgirl friend? And for the last time, that hip-hop bullshit is not poetry despite its wild, African syncopation. It is ignorant verbal spewing. I am on a steady diet of Schubert and The Rolling Stones. I suggest you follow my lead.
I confess you made a hell of a Greenleaf. I admit my Poirot was half-assed, but that is because I could not decide between the Ustinov and Finney incarnations. Anyhow, to hell with costumes. I have decided next year I shall just go out with my patchwork cap and deep blueberry sweater and look like a Fine Piece of Ass.
Was Rodney drunk while flying this time? I swear I will never take your private jet again. Your pilot is a drunkard and your gold accents are tacky.
I am sending this message by falcon with a command to peck out your eyes. Please don't take it personally. Mordecai knows not what he does.
Yours,
Nigel Tewksbury
1 comment:
First, fuck you. Second, I cannot help what these sluts feel passes for music these days - save your didactic ramblings. You will always be my pupil. Third, agreed, the gold accents are a tad ostentatious, but do recall I bought the bird from dear Lapo Elkann who is infamous for this. Fourth, when I asked Rodney if he was OK to fly, we were already in midair and he replied he was extremely high. I do not know how to interpret this as, in his defence, we were many thousand feet above ground.
~RH
Post a Comment