Day 1

10:15 am: A co-worker is washing the blue chest plates used to teach CPR. He keeps repeating under his breath, “Die. Die. Die.” I am unsure if he is speaking to the chest plates or me.

He suggests we take a coffee break. I agree. The coffee tastes bad.

10:25 am: Reading the paper. All the CD Reviews have got three stars. I think somebody is not being critical enough.

12:08 pm: Hair cut. Hairdresser tells a story about his friend’s new cabin. It used to belong to the town dentist. In the basement, they found dozens of jars of teeth the dentist got from his patients. As a bonus, the haircut turned out pretty well.

3:50 pm: I realize the future predicted in the Robert Zemeckis film Back to the Future II is five years away. Hear that Science? Where’s my hoverboard?

3:07 pm: “Unfriend” Barack Obama on Facebook.

3:15 pm: Watch a young viking in a bandana enter the vestibule of my office building, presumably to discuss car insurance. Muse for a moment how out of step I am with other members of my generation. Suspect it is mostly because I use words like vestibule.

5:58 pm: Arrive at where I am house sitting. Find a pile of cash on top of a sheet of instructions. A bottle of Wild Turkey has been left for me.

8:14 pm: After many glasses of Wild Turkey, I consider my options. Couch or the public. I grab another glass of bourbon and my rain-jacket.

9:15 pm: I wait for the bus and look at the house where my great grandparents lived. The house has long since been sold.

9:35 pm: Reminded that I am in dangerous territory. Fell or something. Obviously not important.

9:40 pm: There is a girl, no older than 16 riding the train with a mess of groceries in her arms. I feel for her. I glance for her on the platform. She is gone. Like she never existed.

9:45 pm: I see a train. I wonder if the time it takes to reach the platform is enough time for a couple truly in love, to finish a orgasm. Counting the seconds, I decided “maybe.”

9:55 pm: The bus driver and passengers are plotting. There are dozens of balloons. The driver runs out and places the balloons on the hood of a near-by car. It takes ages.

1:55 am: Back at home after the club. Hazy memories. Saw some bands. Talked to some people perhaps. Don’t remember. Ate lots of midnight pizza.

To the person who found this site while searching for ‘Sorry I hurt you letters’

Hello,

I’m sorry you found this site while you needed to find a reliable source of work that could be used to patch things up. I don’t write those kinds of letters. Not for free anyway.

This brings me to a troubling topic that has been stewing in my brain for a long time. You see, the Internet strangers that visit my letters the most, are usually searching for content related to suicide. They find the open letter I wrote to reading week. It’s probably not what they are looking for.

People rarely find my site after searching for hilarious commentary on breakfast cereals or hard liquor or politics. That worries me, as I’ve put great effort towards those topics. And not suicide.

At any rate, I hope you found something amusing enough to pass on to your significant other. I’m sure you are a catch. A misunderstood catch.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

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Dear WordPress

I made a new blog today. I’d been using a competitor for a year. It is good to have a change. I’d like to change the look of the template but I can’t because I’m using your webhosting. I should wrap my brain around actually installing WordPress, but I’m a coward.

Thank you for developing this code and I wish you the best that web designers like yourselves can imagine.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy