8-29-20
Dear Professional Journalists:
I have a story you may be interested in. This transmission is proof of the story as it is being transcribed by some form of sentient robot. It is a stubborn robot, requiring me to poke and prod at it with my fingers before it communicates to you my message, but stubbornness is a sure sign of character, which only offers further validation of this incredible story.
I also find it quite likely this proves that there’s aliens, as it’s rather hard to believe people could have done this on their own. I implore you to investigate and run your inspections while the machine is still tame, before I introduce it to the wild.
Perhaps you’ll need a translator? I could give it a go. So far I’ve only faced minor injuries, and with equal wins and losses, I believe I have the negotiation skills you’ll need to conduct a proper interrogation of this beast.
Standing by for further instruction,
Patrick the Alien Robot Negotiator
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8-29-20
Dear Pen Pal,
I am very excited to have a friend in writing. You have brought much value to my day. To find myself considering themes and what draws me towards characters is almost so new that it’s strange, which we both know I’m a fan of…so maybe it’s fitting that I’m even odd when giving thanks. In any case–and I’m sure your husband doesn’t let a day pass without reminding you–you are quite the angel, and all are lucky who surround you.
In other news, I think I have a new girlfriend. I’m not exactly sure though, because she’s Korean and I can hardly ever understand what she’s saying. I don’t imagine this to be solely resulting from her massive overbite, as her lisp has informed me she has yet to be naturalithed.
I find both her and her traditions to be quite fascinating. For instance, she says that, in her customs, marriages are arranged by families voting. And, not unlike various systems we have here, sometimes their marriages are subjected to impeachment. Though it appears these elections don’t take place on a schedule, as last year alone they voted on three, with each elected four months after the other.
And I respect the fact that their families stay close. Even as we speak she’s still living with her ex-husband. He seems really nice. He’s given us his blessing and he won’t take up much room when we get a place of our own.
I wish there was a way that I could introduce you two, but she promised to ruin my life if she caught me talking to other girls. What a sense of humor! But just in case…you understand. I’m sure I’ll write more whenever the coast is clear.
Your friend in prose,
Patrick
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8-31-20
Dear Pen Pal,
Today has been the strangest day. First thing this morning, I went to check my nose, to see if anything that wasn’t there from the night before needed to be removed, and I noticed my finger webs came back, but this time at the end of my fingers, which made it really hard to get them up there, so I had to call for some assistance, because no one likes to break their morning traditions, and I’m pretty sure something was up there, as that tends to be the case. Well, believe it or not, nobody wanted to help, despite all those times I’ve found myself helping them out with their nose, so all day it’s been, trying to do it the old-fashioned way, just taking turns clogging nostrils and blowing as hard as I can. Now, some might say that luck was on my side, and attribute that to the fact that, while I was doing this, somehow I only managed to shart myself twice, but, it’s like I told Dave, before any of us go around counting blessings, we better wait for the week’s average because, like Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park says, Nature finds a way. What I am happy to attribute less to luck and more to economics is the fact that I was on the last leg of these drawers when they took the brunt of the impact and, not to be a complete victim of surprises, I held off on washing up and changing after the first time. And so there I was, thinking I had the worst of my day behind me, and then dinner shows up and nobody’s cut my hotdogs. No big deal, I figured, I can handle danger, but boy was I wrong, and now I’m missing more teeth. About all I can hope for now from the rest of the evening is that my picture book comes back without everything drawn in.
You ever have days like these?
Yore frend,
Patrick
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9-1-20
Dear Pen Pal,
I’m pretty good at falling down. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can fall down better than anybody here.
But I wasn’t always this good at it. Fortunately, I have a neighbor that’s helping me train. We start early in the morning. 5:00 most days. I wake up and yell through the vent until he stops sleeping. Sometimes that takes a while but, sure enough, as soon as he wakes up he says, “That’s it. I’m up now. If you know what’s good for you, you better start practicing falling down!”
Another thing I’m good at: tying socks real tight. Pretty much just any old sock I see, I pick it up and tie it in knots. I’m so skilled that anymore it’s like I don’t even know I’m doing it. Which happens with other things too, like unraveling loose rolls of toilet paper. And sometimes those rolls that come in the package.
Also, everyone lately says I’d make a good stepdad. On account of I’m the kind of guy only a mother could love. So if you happen to have any friends that have less kids than you, maybe you should consider putting us in touch so that they can fall in love.
Not much else is new, except I’ve been writing some poems. Just really cranking them out whenever I think of things that are pretty. If I can ever figure out how to write them for the other side of the spectrum, consider it a promise that I’ll write one for you.
Did you get that picture I tore from the magazine with the monkey befriending the lady? I realize she doesn’t look much like me, but since you’re okay with metaphors, I’m supposing that one day you’ll get it.
Patrick = friend
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9-2-20
Dear Pen Pal,
Once upon a time there was a troll in the mailroom. Utterly confused over it’s despicable features and lack of sexuality, all it could do to make itself feel better was confiscate well-wishes and eat booger sandwiches all day.
The troll would then go home and try to kick its own dog, who had grown accustomed to tactically laying shits wherever the troll laid its ugly face. But this wasn’t the reason the troll abused its only friend–nor was it the reason the troll’s coworkers always smelled turds on its breath, as that was just from the basic lack of hygiene that one would expect from a stupid f****** troll–no, the reason the troll enjoyed so much abusing its only friend is because it was unable to adopt kids, which it surely wanted to abuse as well.
One day the troll, while eating booger sandwiches, and fully engrossed watching Tucker Carlson tie Pizza Gate into COVID before proposing that separated migrant children should be enslaved to Fox News…? Oh, yes–the angry afflicted troll hate-confiscated the wrong letter, thinking it was being just as cute as the butthole where it kept its heart and soul.
Now, where most people would jump at the chance to be famous, angry butthole-faced trolls are known to shy from cameras, for they fear the historical record will forever lock them in with their stink. And while we all know that Google can’t recreate smells for great-nieces and -nephews, remember, this is a stupid f****** troll we’re talking about here–who knows what it may think?
So with its finger up its butt, as the troll read another letter, it then smelled its butt-finger and wondered, Is he talking about me?
To be continued…
— Patrick
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9-3-20
Dear Pen Pal,
I though I’d take a minute to lay down after dinner and all of a suddenly it’s 2042. That must just be me getting old…really old. So old I just tried to give a little push and all I could poot was dust… so old I’ve been clipping all the coupons out of magazines even though I’ll probably never be allowed to go shopping again.
Hold on…that’s better — I had to put my eye back in. I was letting it rinse with my teeth and got everything mixed up. Needless to say I was without the eye for two days and then had to give it a good wash again when it popped back out.
…So old I pushed a little too hard trying to get a laugh out of my friends but nobody made fun when I shit myself because they were too jealous of the texture.
Well, TV time I suppose. Though every show ever made anymore seems to be targeting clowns. How about a show with a plot, huh? Whatever happened to that? Like a back-talking motorcycle…or crime-solving retriever that keeps the peace on Daisy’s Prairie… It’s all about who can sing and dance now, ninja courses and Pokémon…
You know, it use to be everyone could juggle chainsaws, because we couldn’t afford no damn TV. Had to perform our own show tunes…and the only prize you might expect was a smack upside the head.
Maybe if you came by to visit sometime I could tell you all about it. Unfortunately, right now I think I’m running late for another nap.
What was your name again?
Patrick