Letter 10

Since I missed out on posting some letters this weekend I thought I'd catch up a little and post another one. Besides, Letter 10 is short and I have nothing to do. Well, that is not entirely true. I have pleanty to do, I just don't want to do that shit.

LETTER 10

Dear [adult swim],

I reviewed the letters I've written you so far and I have to admit that I'm a tad bit disappointed in myself. I've told you that I dreamt I was a naked Harry Potter, and that I was an elephant being chased by a vampire. I've told you that I play fantasy games on-line, and that I'm hairy, and possibly ugly. Further, I told you that I am afraid of the bird flu, that I can't take care of my car, and that I learned to cook at 4-H camp. All in all, this is not the most masculine image I am revealing.

So then I thought that this was very unfair to you, as well as to me, because I haven't given you an accurate depiction of myself. Indeed I am the quintessence of masculinity. Why, just the other day, as I was cutting paper dolls from construction paper, I noticed how muscular and ripped my forearms are, and how they exude maleness and testosterone.

At that moment twelve ninjas burst through my window and told me they were going to steal my wife and children and that I was helpless to stop them. Having nothing on hand but a bucket full of official Major League baseballs I did what any strapping hero would do. A few moments later, when I had run out of balls, eleven ninjas lay unconscious or dead on my living room floor. The last ninja, the leader, would not be so easy to defeat.

"My name is Grendal," said he, "And I cannot be killed by weapons of man." So I threw my purse at his head and he died instantly.

signed