Dear Henry Charles Piper

Dear Henry Charles Piper,

I'm writing today to tell you that I'm leaving you. Your snotty arrogance, your childish way of folding clothes, and your vapid expressions have made me realize that I would rather be eaten alive by eight hundred rabid chipmunks than spend one more minute as your girlfriend. I'm not saying that we didn't have our good times together, because we did. Sharing ice cream cones at the park, hiding in the bushes around the retirement home and throwing rocks at the elderly couples out taking their walks... I spent some of my best days with you.

Do you remember the time when I had a craving for one of those jumbo pickles they sell at pawn shops and convenience stores, and you went out and broke in and vandalized four shops before you finally found one? I can still picture the look of love and accomplishment on your face when I walked into the police station to bail you out of jail. We sure had a good laugh about that one later, didn't we? Just like that incident will never be removed from your record, our good times will never be removed from my heart.

But no matter how hard I try to hold on to our past, the present still comes up and hits me like my father did when he drank too many peach schnapps. How can I justify our relationship anymore Henry Charles Piper? I've always been faithful to you. I could have dated so many other people during our time together. I even turned down Philly Grayvee. Your remember him I'm sure. He owns the Piggly Wiggly down on 6th street, and drives that sleek red Toyota Corolla. I spent my best years on you, but that's all over now.

I'm leaving, and I'm taking Winkles with me. We'll be long gone by the time you get home. I hope that when you see Winkles' empty cage and read this note that I'll place on top of it, you'll realize that the best things in your life have walked out the door. And tonight, when you sit down on the couch and put on your recordings of Nascar, you'll look at the empty spot next to you and regret every time you came home drunk and yelled at me until I made you a sandwich.

So goodbye Henry Charles Piper. I hope you eat poo.

Bored. Tired. Want to go home.
First thoughts to come to my doughy, squishy, grey brain...

Ready?

Set?

Go.


Blasting off at negative sixty-five miles an hour!

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Have you ever woken up from the deepest sleep imaginable and been surprised to find yourself in existence? Like your life had just started, like Lazarus risen from the dead. I hope you know what I mean. It seems like a miracle, really. Makes you think.

That’s what happened to me this morning. I opened my eyes and,


POW!



Welcome to life! You’re alive!


I stayed in bed for a while, just taking it in.
I wondered what Lazarus’ first day of resurrected life was like. I’ll bet he didn’t go into work and spend eight hours listening to rotten customers. :\

NOT a telemarketer.

I have seven minutes until my shift at Direct Alliance ends, and with every passing second I'm hoping and praying that no one calls in.

Perhaps I'm being a bit dramatic, but if your days were filled with whiney customers and protests over installation costs you might have a little sympathy.



Curses. I was able to write for about twenty seconds before a customer called in. And would you guess it, they were inquiring about installation costs! Not everything can be giving to you free, and if you believe otherwise you had better wake up and smell the coffee! And take off your Obama bumper sticker while you're at it. Two minutes left.



A nice guy with a bizarre first and last name, I couldn't begin to announce it. Now 3:34. I love my job. Ciao.