LETTERS TO STRANGERS
This is a wonderful way to stave off boredom. Try sending the most insane and bizarre anonymous letters to total strangers. Find people's e-mail addresses you don't know and send 'em one of these e-mails. Feel free to cut & paste and e-mail away! Or, come up with some on your own. Remember, though, make them completely deranged for maximum pleasure. After all, what fun is life if you can't occasionally mess with a person's mind?
Greetings Great Gormandizer,
Once I loaned you a fork from my world famous fork collection. I have no spoons. Please return my fork for I need it as I take my forks on vacation to the highest mountain tops of the world. There they may gaze down upon you puny humans and say unto themselves, "We are forks, we are mighty, we are strong. Do not bend us for we watch you from the sky." This I must do. I am the only human my forks will tolerate. I am surprised you still live. The fork you have must be weak for he should have flung his mighty stainless steel prongs into your heart. Count your blessings.
That is all,
The velvet seat belts have arrived in droves. You should try them on, if only to experience true irradiation of your temporal lobes. Please do not forget the forget me nots since the Time Of The Muffler is upon us. Am I making myself clear? You may drive in the comfort of your mobile jalopy, but those of us in "the know", we are ON TO YOU!!! I won't go so far as to categorize you as a heathen, but your morals are wafer thin. I can see your paltry heart beat through your transparent skin. What is that smell?!? It is the stench of fifty air-conditioners left useless in an old apartment complex during winter. I feel you may be behind it all. I have said too much. I shall be keeping my eye on you.
It has come to my attention that you are consuming vast quantities of Niobium (atomic number 41, atomic weight 92.906). We here at IKG Central can only assume you are up to no good. The last time one of your ilk exhausted such levels of Niobium we felt the repercussions here for approximately six months. Therefore, it is in our best interests to vilify you publicly at a secret date in order to stop you from whatever devious plan you have concocted. You have been duly warned.
Thank you for your kind consideration,
Second Digitarian of Etiological Liberation,
Supreme Oligarch of The Order Of Soup Ladles,
Member #534 in The Tony Dow Fanclub (in good standing),
Finalist in The Race Against Time,
P.O.W. in The War Against Pesky Stains,
Creator of the new Sara Lee slogan, "Necessary? Nessa Sara Lee!"
The secret of your impudence and irrational fears concerning the health of your tympanic membrane have reached the eyes and ears of the public. Prepare to be the subject of local scorn, as well as national and perhaps pandemic ridicule. I do not know how this sensitive information was leaked to the press, but I shall do my best to control the outcome (though I fear it will be far too little). In the meantime, please remain indoors and don't answer the phone. I have suggested to the people in charge that you legally change your name to Gunther November and dye your hair a turbulent shade of puce. They have yet to get back to me, being full of self-righteous hubris and a desire to needlessly complicate otherwise simple solutions. The average person invariably suffers when dealing with the mighty few. You knew this full well before entering upon our holy ground. Remember, false alacrity leads to painful distress.
Yours in full light,
Dear Pesky Varmint,
I have come to the sobering fact that your personal instability and wanton desire for used Q-tips are the simple, direct result of your massively ingrown toenails. The idea of a man of your stature roaming the streets at night in search of the "perfect tire iron", as you descriptively put it, has caused your precious Mommy to lose countless hours of sleep. You are a thoughtless cad for inflicting such a heavy burden upon her. Therefore, please refrain from greasing anymore palms of cable installers in a desperate cry for free Playboy Channel hook-ups. Buy the damned magazine and stop hounding me! I did not steal your green pillow case, so I would appreciate an apology. Besides, you took my empty Canada Dry Ginger Ale can, the One I WAS SAVING FOR MY FIRSTBORN!!! Damn you!!! I CAN NO LONGER TAKE THIS!!!!
Please forgive me. That was rude. Inexcusable, even. My point is, if you want to fry up the bacon, don't toss it out with the bath water, that's where the baby goes, baby! Again, please forgive me.
Yours in effigy,
Lieutenant Dehumidifier and my Presentable Malcontents