Four Additional Letters
Dear R,
I don’t like it when you eat canned fish in the office. It stinks the place up for hours and hours. Sometimes you really draw out your lunch and the can just sits there, stinking. Even if you throw it away, the trash can is still only a couple of yards from me. It’s disgusting.
Emily
…
Dear Patricia VanLester,
I’m very sorry that I was part of the mob which trampled you and caused you to have a seizure last month. You see, I really wanted to get my hands on that $29.87 DVD player. And I know you can understand this desire, because you did too! You were first in line! Maybe you’d been waiting there so long that your reflexes were off, or something, because otherwise I’m sure it would’ve been you trampling some other poor sucker. But anyway, at least you got one — I heard the paramedics found you laying on top of it. It would take a pretty wiley shopper to get that away from you.
Anyway, I’m feeling pretty guilty about this, and I’ve spent a lot of time in conference with Our Lord, and I want to make amends as best I can. So I’d like to offer you these fresh-baked homemade oatmeal cookies. I hope they will speed your recovery.
Emily
…
Dear “Cooks,”
I really enjoy your champagne, particularly the Spumante variety. Please accept this painting I did as a token of my appreciation. As you’ll see, it’s a shih tzu drinking champagne from an elegant glass.
Emily
…
Dear Patricia VanLester,
I recently heard you are a professional victim. I’m sure you can imagine how I felt about this — much less guilty! I read in the paper that you have fallen down at least 15 times in various stores in Florida. Then I heard that you got a free DVD player from some online concern that felt bad for you. It’s interesting, because I assumed Walmart would’ve given you the one you fell on top of for free. But maybe Walmart was pissed off about the nine other times you’ve been injured in one of their stores. I’m not sure you deserve a DVD player at all. And I’m almost certain that you don’t deserve those cookies I sent you. Please remit twenty-five dollars for the 2 dozen oatmeal cookies you have surely consumed by now. I think you’ll agree that this is competitive with the going rate.
Emily
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Reader Comments
The “canned fish”, as you say – hahaha – is GOOD. HEALTHY.
I am watching this “lunch” you are eating as well: the oozing pizza, this “Big MicMac”, the Free-Toe (now THIS is stinking!), the Hostess sponges – this food is offend to me! This is the food for stupid peoples!
In France, we have the MOTTO for people who are complaining of the French food: Fuck off!
The fish is Portuguese, not French. I would rather be smelling a days-old Hostess cake than the same aged can of open fishes. Please advise.
Are you incorrect?
R.
I am not.
There will be no more insulting of fishes in cans, I suppose?
fishes in cans? smells? cakes? i believe that R, the french person, missed the whole meaning of Emily’s writing a million miles!
i liked it (not the fish nor the cakes)!and if R would ask me what really is in those letters, better not ask, instead take a cake or a can of sardines — it might just come to you!
I do not insult fishes, only the canning of fishes and the resulting odor. And that, sir, I shall never stop.
Emily (is this is the true name),
Please do not express half-cocky to me. If you insult the fish, or the can of residence – OR (you are crazy!), this erotic odors – therefore you insult my country and my actual person.
Do you make the declaration of war?
(Tiptoe!)
R.
More real than yours, “Reynaud” (who thinks himself a poet- ha!), who I happen to know is not really French. Perhaps it may shock the world to know that you are, in fact, French-Canadian.
As for declarations of war, everyone knows that is not what French-Canadians do.
Give it up! Climb back into your hole, curl up with your many cans of fish, beer bread, and sugar pies!
Emily
Pustule! Trollop!
To disparage ma cuisine is one event (perhaps once forgiven), but Canada is the most gravest (and lying!) insult. There cannot be return from this bungle.
Tremble, Bambi! You cannot escape.
The cannon has grease, and WAR begins now.
Forgive me if I do not tremble.
Oh dear, Emily, I see you have angered our “french” friend.
If you need back up, please let me know.
To: aj
Is good to be friendly. I am knowing that you can be helping this “Emily” with the coiffure, and the selection of the proper ensemble for her degradation inevitable. I think also, at this moment, you are wearing the LIP STICK.
Thank you, aj.
And now:
the starting of the easy war with EMILY.
Billy Bob, like Reynaud, have taste the finest wine. But you, EMILY, are not the Croft.
You are POSEUR.
This I have realize, and also confessed to me (there was drinking), from one JONCORONA.
Hoopla! Yes, you are knowing this meaning. And now you are having the CHICKEN SKIN, nest pas?
And next: TOPEKA.
Encore: hoopla!
{In my head, the crowd of peoples are cheering, and throwing the little baby in the air).
And so:
perhaps EMILY is now at seat, before the cheap laptop. Her sweetest friend – the BJ – is brushing now the hairs of EMILY, in the tightest pants. He is wearing LIP STICK.
Is EMILY seething?
Yes. She is one GOTH. The GOTH must seethe.
The GOTH is the VAMPIRE, without styles or fang. The GOTH is starve for the attention; Look here! Look me!
The GOTH can get work only in the leftovers bookstore, smelling bad. The GOTH is alcohol-loving, first in the morning. The GOTH is the stupid one which no-one is liking.
This is EMILY: GOTH.
The Meaning of Name:
POSEUR. TOPEKA. GOTH.
Thine enemy, you know? Someone is saying this and is true.
To defeat the one that you have make upon the WAR, you must know of this one. Therefore, I investigate the name of EMILY.
I say this: Google, you know? Also true.
Two sight have say this of the name of EMILY:
Rival.; Enemy.; Pugnacious, (which, I am sure, is meaning UGLY); and Stupid.
But I am discover one book (in the leftover store, with the stinking GOTHS), which is one Biblebook: The True Meaning Of Name, by Olden Polynice (from many Riviera).
He tell the name Tyrrell is meaning: to pull.
The name Abraham is meaning: Father of many.
Michael is meaning: Who is like God? The one which leads the army from Heaven.
REYNAUD is meaning: famous power.
EMILY is meaning: One who expels intestine gasses from the mouth. One who is always with spittle. The ugly one
BJ is meaning: Pussy.
Le Synopsis:
EMILY is stupid.
EMILY is drunking SCOTCH from TOPEKA at one TURKEY NEST, a place of stinking GOTH.
BJ is in the men bathroom, with giggles.
This WAR has only begun.
Hors d’oeuvres,
R.
One thing more, EMILY:
BAUHAUS (I yawn).
Tarte Tatin,
R.
It seems Reynaud has quite the crush on me!
He speaks of you often and lustfully.
Crush like the tin can (full of fish), bebe!
Can you offer no more warring than one GOTH sentences?
You are surrendering, I suppose?
(It will not be easy.)
Toot sweet,
R.
I do not feel the need to depend on false verbosity to defeat you in a battle of wits. This is a useless sham perpetrated by French-Canadians and long-winded talkshow hosts (such as one Sally Jesse Raphael or one Montel) which is ultimately recognized by all as inferior.
You have confess you are without WIT, therefore I accept your surrender.
Soon will arrive a message in which you are instruct to send the surrender merchandises. YOU MUST send all items on list at once! Or further taunting will occur.
I am sorry EMILY, but for you, there are no parting gifts.
In victory,
R.
Your ability to misunderstand is astounding. Such is the lot of the fool, I suppose.
AN ODOR TO EMILY
I am from France.
Better, obviously.
Astound yourself.
(A small poem).
Hoopla!
EMILY,
I am tired of WAR.
Are you?
WAR is unhealthy, no?
Do you like mussels?
I like it with the FRENCH FRY.
Perhaps, sometime, dinner?
Spanish wine?
(But you must portage the surrender prizes).
And so,
OK,
Bonne nuit,
R.
(sweet dreams).
Reynaud,
I am inclined to agree, as I do enjoy mussels and french fried potato pieces. However, I did not receive any list of surrender prizes so I cannot guarantee to provide them. Also you must change the name from “surrender prizes” to “tokens of appreciation.”
Emily
And now: THE LIST OF SURRENDER MERCHANDISE (name unchanged).
EMILY have forsake this WAR, therefore she must make the SPOILS.
PRIZES FOR VICTORY (REYNAUD):
— IPod, modele most recente.
— Foie Gras, 2 poundwww.dartagnan.com.
— Condom: Lamb, XL, vulcanizedone gross (no EMILY, I am not refer to youone GROSS is the number.)
— Something from Victoria Secret (DO NOT WEAR BEFORE!)
— The baby cat (who will be my beloved friend.). Send FIRST CLASS (put some hole in the box, for airs).
— One supply for the year of IAM, lamb and avocado.
— One Pomegranate seedling (healthy!).
— A winter coatlet (LLBean).
— Subscribe to Gastronomica.
— Some shiny baublesrhiningstones, no.
— Colobus Monkey, living, small.
— One small wooden cabinet, with drawers.
— Wasabi Peas, ten pound.
DELIVER THIS in 10 day to be friendly.
R.
Unacceptable! I have been more than reasonable in allowing you to keep your paltry little victory, but I will not bear your surrender gifts, nor will I give in to your threats.
Watch for gifts of another sort.
OK Emily.
Tyrant I am not today.
I omit my monkey, and, in place of pomegranate, I will accept one delicious mango.
You can be substituting corn beef (one kilo from BEST joodelly) for the condom.
And, you should instead write for me one friendly POSTCARD from New York City.
{I have been at WHITNEY, you know. She is not there.)
WARNING: Do not omit wasabi pea.
And so,
I am missing now my monkey.
R.
Reynaud,
As I see it is important to you that you be paid some tribute, here is what I can offer:
ONE (1) photograph of a spider monkey, clipped from National Geographic Magazine
TWO (2) pounds Corned Beef
Some Wasabi Peas (1 pkg.)
ONE CAN (12oz) Goya brand Mango Nectar
ONE postcard with Statue of Liberty picture, and friendly message.
Best,
Emily
EMILY.
If the corn beef is not so lean, I accept.
And, I hope, when you are writing to me one postcard (the Liberty statue is good!),you are not putting the “flower” above the “i” – only the “dot”.
I am no more liking the hippy girl.
In salutation of my monkey,
I am,
REYNAUD
You do not know me so well, if you think I dot letter “i” with anything but a dot. I am no hippie, nor goth, nor ugly, nor poseur. You make assumptions of which you know nothing.
Repent!
Truly, I am knowing only some bits of you EMILY, but I am this suspecting: in this TURKEY NECK, with the SCOTCH (also with black hairs, the whiteness of skins and the fashion mutilations), I believe – I know! – you are one seeting VIXEN (the lady foxe).
You run here, you run there – far! – with some hotness in your brains, and other places.
But even for you, EMILY who, I am showing the great mercies, I cannot make this REPENT.
Truly, I believe it is the SIN. It is a brown place, for get catching there the fungus. And so, you must someday get the SHOT.
EMILY, beware this repent – it is not fashion. Better the frottage, no? HEALTHY.
I ask you now more–
AGAIN!–
respectingly:
EMILY, please,
surrender nice.
Your smilings conqueror (deserving of present),
R.
Please quit, you are scaring me. You are “asking around,” finding out information about me!
How glad I am you are 1⁄2 of 1 country away, or you probably would come find me where ever I might be, at work, in bed, or at a turkey’s nest. And just watch.
Do not stalk! It is creepy.
Your statue of… postcard contains no return address.
I do not “ask around”.
I SEE (It is like KNOWING.)
Have you see one movie EXORCIST?
No, you walk around with your fake French accent saying “OOh, do you
know this
EMILY?
What is her HAIR
color and does she eat SHELLFISH?”
EMILY,
It is too much. Time has passed without reward.
And, as I am now knowing that you are the CRAZY one (I read your ARTICLE, you see), I am wondering if the VICTORY over the one who is insane is truly the victory?
(I am not asking you, EMILY).
And so, for now,
I withdraw.
Is too much, this SCROLLING for the COMMENT.
And no PRESENT.
Cap d’Antibes,
R.
What article?
(silence)
awww! now this is really getting interesting! i hope it won’t fold flatly worse. looking forward to the next searing exchange! you guys trying to drum up sumthin’? well, am a fan!
This was begining to flap my flapper, then I wanted to flap out loud !!! I FLAP THEREFORE I AM!!