Letter 3

Dear [adult swim],

Last night, on my drive home from work, my dashboard lights flickered. At first I thought it was lightning, but then I realized it was you winking at me electrically. I felt warm and loved. Then I felt kind of icky because I don't know if you're a man or a woman.

I worried about my own sexuality for a mile or two when my car broke down. Then I remembered how badly I need a new job. And then I remembered how you need me to write for you. I could write for you, you could pay me, and I could pay my wife's boyfriend to fix my car.

Hilary Clinton said, 'it takes a village,' but really it only takes a family. A man, a woman, two kids, a boyfriend who can fix cars, Hiram Walker, high speed Internet, a half-assed therapist, a decent baby sitter, a rich-but-tragically-ill uncle, about twenty or thirty other vaguely related people, and [adult swim]. And that only works if the man is a good writer.

signed

Ps. In all honesty I never read "It Takes a Village," so I really don't know what I'm talking about. And I don't have a rich uncle.

Pps. Hiram Walker amaretto is yummy.