The Letter
Dear Mr. Logan Middle Name Kreps the nothing,
I’m not sure how long this letter will be but I do know it’s 25 cents a page at my local library. So don’t expect to be reading for too long. However, you currently have all of the pages in your possession so you, in fact, know the answer to the riddle that currently plagues me. I hope your eyesight is good as well because if this thing gets over two pages I’m cutting the font size down to 9. I know it’s only two points below the standard 11 but it is much much smaller. Trust me. Or perhaps you know, as you can now see for yourself.
I suppose since you know everything about yourself I will talk mostly about myself. The journey across the country was a harsh and cruel mistress. Though being the first in my family to venture out beyond the great Mississippi River has had its rewards. The climate is fair here I must say, my dear cousin, the imported palm trees bristle in the breeze gently next to the indigenous desert pines. I have witnessed my first miracle as well. Rain fell upon my mechanical horse one day during a jaunt about the city. Los Angeles which translates in English to The Angles is honestly not that special. It’s as if they took the center of every Ohio town and copy and pasted it like an oversized game of SimCity. We live in Valley Village which is a newly gentrified area in the Valley. Our apartment complex is most likely owned by the last remnants of the eastern European Mafia. They are kind landlords so much as I pay my rent on time and ignore what is clearly a chop-shop in the basement parking garage.
I have recently procured myself some work to be of use around town. I will be working at what is known as an “International Grocery Store” I take this to mean their Asian and Mexican Aisle is more than the one “Oriental” isle we’re used to at the local Giant Eagle. I begin orientation next Wednesday, during which I am required to pass a test to secure employment. To become a full fledged cashier I have to memorize all one hundred and twelve produce codes with ninety percent accuracy. A task of which I am assured is way harder than basic training for the Navy. I spend minutes staring at flashcards. Iceberg Lettuce 4061, Green Cabbage 4069, and my favorite Bok Choy 4545.
My aspirations of becoming a comedian have not fallen by the wayside. I have done standup in the greater local Los Angeles area. My first experience with which almost discouraged any future trials. Down I drove to the Ha HA Comedy club on a regular Wednesday evening. Signup’s started at five. I arrived there at four fifty-five so as to get a good spot in line, but upon my arrival, the doors to said establishment were closed. I had been denied entry and I had to pee. After pacing near the entrance for another 20 minutes the gates finally opened. I peaked my head inside wondering if perhaps I had been bamboozled by the companies website. Standing behind the bar was one lonely thirty-year-old Russian bartender hovering over an empty book that within held the sign-up-sheet for open mic. Reignited by the opportunity to be the first to sign up I quickly signed my name before awkwardly taking a seat at the bar.
Another thirty minutes would pass before the show began. The room was a fourth filled with much older much sadder looking men. Around twenty of them all anxiously waiting their turn on stage. The mic began my heart was beating and it was the longest fucking two hours of my life. It was excruciating. One dude did a ten minute set about his penis. And not even in a funny way. His fucking penis. Now I have to live my life having been witness to a vivid description of his phallus. I can only hope that one day it will exit my mind. Even though I got there first I was pulled out of the magical comedy bucket 19th and had to wait through the entire show to go on. Trust me when I say it’s hard to get people to laugh when they’ve been listening to multiple men describe their dicks for two hours. The other open mics have been fun though.
When we moved in we didn’t have any furniture, electricity, or gas. I had forgotten to call the utility companies before we moved in and they couldn’t help us for three days because it was labor day weekend. During the hottest week of the year, Haleah and I slept on the ground, eating our meals in complete darkness. At one point I got so hot I just started screaming. I had to get into a cold shower before I threw myself off our first story balcony just to feel a few minutes of freedom. It’s all good now. We have power, although no A/C. I’ve called the landlord a few times because there was the A/C, the blinds, and a giant hole in the wall that needed fixing. So far a month has gone by and at least we have blinds.
The traffic is as bad as they say but it is kinda fun weaving in and out of it like a fucking maniac. Huh, at this point I think I’m kinda out of things to say. I suppose if you want to write me back you’re welcome to. My address is [BLOCKING OUT THIS PART BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW YOU PEOPLE] I expect a letter dropped by drone please don’t attach any arsenal. I know uhh how ‘you guys’ Can be about that whole thing so.
Ps. a picture of my butt was just too big to fit in this envelope. It would have just been a picture of my crack. Butt crack that is to the lucky Military intelligence officer that’s reading this letter before my cousin gets to. Please don’t send me to prison I will be brutally raped like that guy from that movie about prison. The one with Morgan Freeman. Yeah, I know it’s called Shawshank Redemption. I did not spell check this.
Best Regards,
Nicholas Arthur Englehart the III, IV, and perhaps one day depending on my academic aspirations the Vth
This is very funny! Your cousin is lucky to have you in the family!
ReplyDeleteThank's mom
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