Letter 5

The following letter is not the letter of scandal I just wrote about. I will post that one, but not for a couple more day. In case I did actually send it I don't want it to appear here before they get a chance to read it.

However, there is also an error in Letter 5. It is one I am embarrassed about, and I only just noticed it. Letter 5 was remarkably long and I simply could not get it all to fit on a page neatly. In Letter 5 I talked about how at 4-H camp I took a course called Microwave Magic, which was essentially a cooking course. I didn't want to take it, but I didn't have much of a choice. I arrived late for camp and I got stuck in it. Luckily my friend Kevin was in that class.

Naturally I said all of that in the most clever of ways that would have elicited riotous laughter. However, there was not enough room and I opted to cut it, as it really wasn't integral to the story. This may seem innocuous enough, but in a later letter I forgot that I omitted that scene and I made reference to it. Oops!

If you ever watched the movie Goonies, which was a childhood favorite of mine, you remember at the very end scene on the beach when Data says, "The octopus was very scary." In the theater I laughed it off as him lying to beef up a story that was already fantastic on it's own. Later I found that Spielburg actually had deleted as scene with a dancing octopus. Good call Steve. Still, I think my omission will cause a little more confusion. You'll see when I post that letter. I point it out to you.

LETTER 5:

Dear [adult swim],

It occured to me today that my last letter went out on Sunday, which means it didn't go out at all. In all likelihood yesterday's letter sits in my mailbox waiting for today's letter to join it. Like fraternal twins conceived on different days, except a little less gross to think about.

In fifth grade I went to Rock Eagle for 4-H camp. One day, as I and my friend Kevin waited in line for the putt-putt course, the boy in front of us, who was exceptionally dirty and shirtless, turned around.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," we said back.
"When my brother gets here, he's gonna cut in back of me."
"You mean in front of me," Kevin asked astutely.
"Well, he's cutting behind me, so it's ok."
"Fine," we agreed. "What does he look like."
"You'll recognize him. We're identical twins."

About two minutes later another very dirty kid, this time wearing a completely transparent jersey, came walking up. Aside from the dirt and the matching outty belly button he didn't resemble the first kid at all.
"That's my brother," the first kid said.
"You said he was your identical twin," I reminded him.
"Yeah," the second kid said, "We're fraternal twins."
"You can't be both," Kevin said.
"Why?" one of them asked.
"First of all, you have to look the same to be identical twins. You two don't even look the same age."
"I'm six months older," the shirtless one said.
"How did your mother have you, then have you six months later?" I asked.
"Oh, we don't have the same mother. Our mothers are sisters."
"Oh," Kevin said, thinking he finally understood. "You're cousins."
"No," the shirted one said, "We are fraternal twins. We have the same dad."
"I see," I said, and Kevin and I decided to play basketball instead.

So you see, the Sunday and Monday letters will be like those dirty "fraternal twins." They are stupid and rough, but they have the same daddy.

signed