Adam, So. Here we are. I don't even know where to begin. The last week has been emotionally draining, to say the least, as I have been unemployed for that period, and able to watch the TV all day long...watching the crap in NYC unfold live on TV. But here I am. I have intensely conflicting thoughts about the attack, and our ensuing responses (whatever they may be), but that really doesn't seem real to me. I feel like I'm getting angry at a television show. what does seem real, is that I'm leaving for Scotland in less than a month (on a plane, no less...fuck fuck fuck fuck...damn terrorists have made it so I can't even carry my knife...vicious bastards). Woo hoo!!! and part of me is tempted to just see what it'd take for me to emigrate there (especially if we get involved in a war...of course, the other part of me wants to return to the US if we get involved in a war and start participating in Berkeley-esque protests, culminating in an attractive failed attempt to overthrow the government). Now, most likely, the programs that read all of our e-mails have just marked me as a dissident for that phrase "overthrow the government", and you as a collaborator...so you're in it with me now, brotha! No choice now. So bring Wazny and Jon to the revolution...maybe you could pick up Otto if she's on the way...it'll be one big party...we'll take amphetemines and doom our cause in meaningless sex and drug use, and future generations will look upon us as saints. It'll be great. So we'll die early, probably in some obscure dive of a whorehouse, but who wanted to live forever? Social security is bankrupt anyway (or will be, after it's used to fund our wars), so we'd have to support our warped old bodies and fragile blasted mad reeling minds. So grab all the cool cats you can, and we'll ride the Pequod down on this great big White Whale of a "democracy" together. Sorry...got a little out of control there. Really, the reason i started to write you was because Otto told me about your little...ahem...poison ivy problem. And that you'd expect me to be lecturing and condescending about it. But you're wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong! I sympathize with you. I'm sorry about the incredible burning sensation on your jon thomas, and I hope that pitiful pleasure was worth the discomfort. Pervert. See, wasn't that sympathetic? But honestly, I'm surprised it affected you. I would have thought the hair on your palms would have prevented this from happening. But anyway, get better. And put on copious amounts of calamine lotion. Or get someone else to do that for you. Ummm...okay. Aside from the abuse about your self-abuse, I don't really have anything else to say. My life is dull as sin (and we're talking the dull sins, like usury and parsimony, not the exciting ones, like murder and adultery...not that I've done any of those...). I'm working again, doing shitty data entry, and reading and occasionally watching national landmarks crumble with thousands of people in them. But other than that my life is calm. I talk to Gretchen about once a week, and she tells me how much she misses me and then forgets about me until the next conversation. I talk to Otto nearly every night, and she tells ME how much she misses me...and I don't think she forgetes about me until the next conversation...in fact, sometimes I wish she would...but for the most part, I like talking to her, and I do miss her as well. Still, part of me just wants to disappear for awhile. Just pull the real life equivalent of the soap opera stand-by...my character is just going to get "killed off" for most of a year...maybe to be brought back if fan outcry is strong enough and the rating are good, maybe to just switch networks or something. I'll keep you posted. but remember the soap opera rule. Even if you hear that I've been decapitated by a semi, don't believe it until you see the body, and not even then is it sure. Really, it's only close to 100% sure if you actually kill me yourself with your bare hands...not something I'm recommending, mind you, though it would be nice to see you again. I'm rambling, aren't I? And fuck, I have to go to work soon. So, good night, until we meet again. -Chris "Stu" Stuart
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