Oh, Edwahrd!

Saturday, 17 February 2007

Dear Dr Velveeta,

I can’t believe I didn’t write back yet. So I won’t.

I’m writing you again. Couple things I failed to clear up with any sort of fault tolerance.

Parker Posey is from small-town Mississippi? You don’t say. They sure are doing amazing things with wet mice nowadays.

Well, I knew Olivia D’Abo in Taos as a boy. Which is—sidestepping the question of doing “better”—to say I was a boy and I think she might have possibly known who I was because she was friends with my red-headed cousin who had just moved back to Taos after her mom divorced her dad who moved to Carlsbad which is really much too hot but the caverns are fucking amazing and Mexican free-tailed(!) bats by the MILLION never fail to astound but the best part is that after you walk three miles down there they have an elevator so you, THANKGOD, don’t have to walk back up.

Where was I?

Ah, yes: yer mamma.

I don’t know why you bring out the absurd in me. It’s irrelevant though as I’ll never forgive you for it.

My 12th-great uncle was an Edward, so don’t get too comfy. This is he—Edward Winslow. His underachieving rat bastard brother, Kenelm, my 12th-great grandfather, took the second boat and never governed Plymouth or wrote any books. Pussy.

Your Alameda Island fox,

–Vivian Five VI

PS: Save some trouble—her pants were not so hot as Duchamp had led us all to believe.

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Re: Oh, Edwahrd!

Vivian, When Jennifer 8. Lee finds out you've round-eyed her name for your own, AND are doodling it on your Post-It notes ("... Jenny 8. Lee n' Viv Five VI 4-evR!!..") she's gonna expect a marriage proposal.

She also thinks she's the most gifted writer ever to soufflé numerals and letters. I fear you're headed for an Ernest Hemingway/Martha Gellhorn pairing.

One of the Extreme Sports: full-contact marriage.

Nail-bitingly yours,


By eVCubed on 19 February 2007 · 12:51