Dearest Arpogenia,My, what a difference a day makes! One day it's all warm and rainy and womblike, so you crack the window, take a few handuls of fiber tablets (mmmmmmmm, good stuff!) and retire, hoping for dreams of Hugh Laurie and ylang flowers... the next morning you wake up in a frozen brown mound after one long nightmare, in which Paris Hilton stuffed you between the massive fat rolls concealed by her hypergravitational girdle, where a nonstop loop of The Day After Tomorrow III played. Which is worse, Paris Hilton, tofurkey jerky or an unidentified gas smell?? At this point I don't think anyone could say.
Yes, we're undergoing a huge cold snap here in the (cr)Apple. All the Christmas oranges and lemons have frozen solid--which, luckily, makes them great for pelting slow pedestrians with. You should see them when they slip on the ice and slide down the big hill--it's just like a life-size pinball machine. Doesn't Markie Post have one of those? I suppose she'd have to, with all that Night Court coin, right? HAHAHAHAHA LOL! But seriously, it's damn cold here--I went out to mail something at around 1pm, and the music froze in my headphones--Electric Youth, no less!! I thought that song was a scorcher. It melted my heart; I figured it could withstand 19 degree temps, right? Wrong. So what did I do, you're asking? Thanks for asking. Here's what I did: I removed my earbuds and decided to put them someplace piping hot--my backyard downtown chocolate muffin oven, if you know what I'm saying. And what I'm saying is: my butthole. Li'l Brown Eye. The Panic Button. I stuffed them there and squeezed as hard as I could, remembering what Sensei always said: Backdoor squeeze make big geyser heat (especially when Debbie Gibson's involved, right?!?!?!?). Sadly, that didn't have quite the effect I was hoping for. After some minutes I took them out, and saw that they had crystallized into diamonds! Sigh. I handed the dazzling blinglets to someone passing out Spanish herbal weight loss pill fliers and continued walking, making the music in my head. I guess I should have known better, especially after last Wednesday, when I ate a bunch of corn and then egested several hundred thousand pounds worth of flawless topaz on Friday. ...Or was it amethyst? I'll ask Shlomo next time I'm in the diamond district. He sells all my jewels. I don't think he gets the best prices, though--I'm always giving him diamonds that I'm sure are worth thousands, and then he comes back with a Happy Meal, asking for change! I really should investigate that. Note to self: Biopsy Shlomo's brain next Monday. Get Greg House in on this.
Still, cold or not, it's absolutely gorgeous out today. The sun is gleaming, much like those earbuds I just gave away, and the smell of burnt tires fills the air. That's because the glare from the streets is causing all the taxicabs to smash into each other. But don't cry for them, Arpogenia, because I've always made a point of lecturing them on driver safety every time I go to that Pakistani place with the $2 noodle bowl. (You know the one--the noodles have that curry-with-a-hint-of-urine flavor? It's that one we ate at just before you sprouted that frog limb for a week.) Did they listen? Obviously not, even when I talked the same gibberish to them that they do with each other. You could say they're getting their just desserts--I'm selling pies on the corner of Park and 30th (right outside the OTB where found your last husbands), and everytime some taxis crash I go and throw a pie in each cabbie's face. It's kinda like when they sing Happy Birthday to you at Olive Garden or the rest area. Or, when they used to, you know, before the ...unpleasantness.
And that's really all I have for you. Everything else is much the same. Still trying to get that wax-museum-where-the-statues-are-made-of-white-chocolate-and-butt hair started, and I think I may be close to a breakthrough with that: I met a swarthy middle eastern businessman who promises me every night that he'll invest lots and lots of money in the idea. And then he drops a barrett and, well, I think you know what happens from there. I wish he'd stop doing that, but whatever. Sensei also used to tell us that Path to Wisdom have many stop on Hershey highway. I always keep that in mind for those three minutes that I'm counting the Cheeto fragments on the floor--God, there are a lot of crumbs down there--I really oughtta get a mouse. I will say this, though: if I don't see some money soon, I have a feeling that one middle eastern businessman is going to have a 4-inch diamond Where the Wilde Warts Are!
That's the beep for now. Kisses! Give my best to the toilet bowl the next time you purge.
Beep!
Ed Shepp
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