hi. how's it going? just fine here, thank you. i like the dark. and candle light. brings peace. brings tranquility. i am kinda tired, but i decided i'd write you an e-mail first. hmm, what to say, what to say... i almost wrote "right you an e-mail" there. intentionally. but i thought you'd just think i messed up. heh, i'm not that stupid. jeez, don't you think i know that, huh? you eat frogs like they're twizzlers! muahahahahaha! well anyway, this is your pretty boring e-mail so you can sit at work and wonder to yourself, what is wrong with that boy? answer: absolutely nothing. um, or positively everything. whatever suits you. i was thinking of writing a poem and attaching it, but i'm too lazy and i need to go to sleep sometime soon. you're not mad at me, are you? nah, i didn't think so. i'm the loveable, huggable eggman. i will stomp that silly walrus into oblivion. yeah, so... i've been thinking about it, and, well, frogs are twizzlers, in their own little way. nothing is anything. everything is something else. my wrists hurt. need to slow down here. oops, and away we go. la la how the life goes on. boop boop shoo bop. hey, lady, you're one swell chick. dance with me tonight, okay? neato. i'll take that as a yes and bend it around till it looks like a flower. i'll light the wick of my little candle and teach you sign language. yer purty, i tell ya, PURTY!! so, yeah, dance with me for a minute and an hour. or a few seconds over an hour. or whatever makes you feel like kicking your shoes off and touching the ceiling fan with your fingertips. there is A LOT of dust up there. don't even attempt to look. just take my word for it. boy, have i got the movie for you to see. it's gooooood. hmm, Steve hasn't been on-line, speaking of Steve, which we weren't but this is my e-mail and i'm in control here, driving without a license. wrists hurting oh so much, but can't stop writing cuz i want you i want you to see all the words and find the Easter egg that waits in the sand. cha is what they tell me. try not to punch me, okay? i bleed like bunny rabbits, baby. uh uh, i said to myself. no way am i going to sleep this dance out. my baby wants to dance, just doesn't know it, and, me, i'm gonna dance with her. the music is pumping, nobody's watching and if there's nothing better to do, you might as well dance. man, i gotta dance. i gotta DANCE!! YEAH!! what should we dance to? how about something silly and free? like Vietnam. or, oh oh oh, maybe the sunset!! yeah, let's dance to the sunset, watch our bodies move in the indiglo shadows of electronic waves bouncing off the paint. beautiful, man, that's all i can say about that. beautiful! hey, lady, so will you dance with me for a second? hmm, don't be busy. no one's ever too busy for a dance. dancing is kinda funny and silly and fun. i do it alone sometimes in the living room when my dad's away. sometimes when he's right there. i am one ball of dork. but i am also very kool. don't you forget that, coconut girl. cha cha cha cha cha. um, yeah. my wrists are starting to abandon me. they're dragging me to my room, but i won't let them win. i'm entertaining people at work or/and play. you probably stopped reading this by now, i take it. you're probably sitting there at work while your mind is wandering down the page, wondering if and when.... no scratch that. when and if (reverse that, as Wonka says) this will make any sense. of course it will! you just have to want to see it. want to see it? it sings songs for little retard children. well, not just children. little retard grownups too. i'm not too tired. wired on pixy stix i was last night. that was out of order. you're out of order! he's out of order! this whole coke machine is out of order! i like that. think i'll use it again. this whole coke machine is out of order! and look at that, i did. i should write you a nice handwritten letter. not right now tho. i'm too lazy. about that movie. it's gooood. did i mention that? huh? what'd you say? speak up, dammit, i got my ears on the floor. dammit all to Columbine. oops. that's not very P.C. but you know what? P.C. can paint my cat! aww, c'mon you had to see the madness in that one. Steve just signed on and signed right off again. it's almost like i'm on drugs with him. ha ha ha. you're a funny goat. ha ha ha. silly billy! cha cha.... *gulp* i want some of that nice chocolate milk. you got style, man. dance with an old-timer like me? c'mon, whadda ya say? you will? sweeeeeet. i'm bored again. this is making no sense. i was about to say something important, and then i went and lost it, right there in the air, between my fingers. ooh ooh ooh! i remember! i'm almost done my little pocket book. heh, think i'll call it that, instead of "Short Poems For A Friend". i think i'm hungry again. not fun!! NOT FUN!! every artist needs a fuse. a lot of this shit is just one or three-liners. need to pick myself up from the roof and get my teeth some weather. hmm. i wonder who this Doug cat is. he's scratching my change. so, your fingers are dialing away and you're calling me, and i say, "hey" and you go, "what's up, bud?" and i go, "just chillin', man" and you go, "hot beans. hey, dude, can i come over for a bit? i just need to get out of my head" and i say "sure thing, man. do what u gotta go." then you go, "oh, sweet. hey, i owe you a dance, don't i?" and i go, "yeah, but i'll settle for custody or ooh ooh, gummi bears, yeah!" and you go, "dude, you're not making any cents" and i say, "i'm sorry, man, i just can't break that dollar. i'll go to jaily jail jail" and you laugh like a bulldog and smile like grease fire and say, "gummi bears it is" and i say, "okay. come on over. i'll get the Zimmerman going. the candle is nice and strawberry" and you say, "damn. i didn't know you could count." then i say, "man, lawyers got nuthin' to do wit it" and you say, "what's that movie?" and i say, "that ain't no movie. that's life. and it's happening all around you. look out your window. get your shotgun and shoot that cowboy off your roof" and you say, "sorry, no can do. i left the dust buster in the car" and i say, "words, don't fail me now" and you go, "feet, don't fail me now" and i go, "i like TV. Friends is on. come on over, come on over, baby" and you say, "i never liked that Debbie Gibson" and i say, "don't be a fucking racist" and you say, "okay, i'm on my way." and then i say, "don't forget Lucy in disguise of bear suit" and you say, "diamonds are NOT forever. we all gotta die sometime." and i laugh for you and hang up on you, and wait for the last couple minutes on my concrete steps leading to my door, a cigarette placed firmly between my lips, shaking my hips at the sun. you arrive and things are groovy like groovy was a verb. we dance. we eat gummi bears. we watch TV. we paint dawn like we're finishing an album that no one will understand. ah, it'll be great. then in a couple of days, i'll take you shopping for new favorite pants, cuz holes are ugly and not fun, and you deserve a Kit Kat break anyway. oh, man, it'll be fun. oh, man, that meal was killer. not pizza but that other stuff. the diner smells like memories. ooh ooh. it's getting late and this e-mail is getting long and i have no idea when you'll read/finish it. so i better end it here. but, anyway, sound good? you can edit it as you seem fit. cha cha, my treadmill lackey. dance with both fists in the clouds. you're an eye scream when you smile. uh oh. time to go. the Tanner baby is here to annoy and imploy me. yeah, so i'll expect your call around 17? swell, man. if not, i have this raincoat the size of a balloon. or a train or something small. oh, rain checks expire, luv. hmm. so cha and good day and work sucks, i know, but we get by with a little help from our pen pals. i love you like sugar, probably more. definitely more. tea would suffice if it wasn't so nice and my one and only terrible, terrible vice. good day, ma'am, thank you for your time, we'll send you your car in a week.
P.S. rain checks are also edible and all so tasty. smother them in ketchup and let your teeth do all the work. um, yeah. hi. bye. cha. ring ring? knock knock? ring ring.