Dear Cormac,
I know you’re a busy man, what with
your endless self-promotion and all, so let’s just
get down to business. I need you to do a
job for me. Some too-bit redneck ran off
with my briefcase full of money, and the psychopath I hired to find him has
turned out to be unstable. I need you to
find the redneck and the psychopath and kill them for me. I believe the standard fee in a case like
this is five thousand dollars.
Now, I’m a little short on funds
right now on account of that briefcase had most of my money in it, and I won’t
get paid again until a week from Thursday, BUT, I’d be willing to give you
twenty five dollars up front and the remaining four thousand nine hundred and
seventy five upon receipt of the briefcase (It’s black and it has a couple of
clasps and a handle. There should be
money inside.), and the two bullet-riddled corpses. It’s a tough job, but I know you can handle
it.
I know you can handle it because I
read Blood Meridian. That book could only have been written by a
stone-cold sicko.
I don’t mean to criticize your work
or anything, but yuck! I don’t think
there was a character in that book that wasn’t a psycho. I assume you put a lot of yourself into your
characters and, well, I don’t know how to end this sentence without offending
you. The last thing I want is to cause
your crazy ass to come after me! Ha
Ha.
Besides your characters, another
problem I had with your book was the setting. Too dusty.
Also the plot was no good.
What if, instead of a gang of Indian killers
and outlaws roaming the old west slaughtering babies and whatnot, you wrote
about a band of sorority sisters working at a candy store! Now that’s a story I could get into! Also, how about throwing a love story into the
mix? What if Judge Holden fell in love
with a sexy Mexican maid or something?
Jennifer Lopez could play her in the movie version, opposite Ben
Affleck. Wouldn’t you like to see those
two get back together? I know I
would. By the way, feel free to use any
of these ideas the next time your publisher issues a reprint. Just remember to give me credit and a share
of the royalties.
Also, let me know if you want to
take the hired-killer job. Scratch
that. If you want the job, don’t tell
me. I don’t want to be connected to the
actual crime. How about this? If I don’t hear back from you before a week
from Thursday, I’ll start checking my mailbox for bullet-riddled corpses.
Oh, I almost forgot to give you the
name of the redneck. Her name is
Shirley. Technically she didn’t steal my
briefcase full of money. It was actually
my prized album collection. I know what you’re thinking, and don’t worry about
the money. Those albums are extremely
valuable. I’m talking about the Jim Neighbor’s Christmas Album, the
original Alvin and the Chipmunks Sing the
Blues, and a compilation featuring Men at Work and that band that sang “Oh
Mickey, you’re so fine. You’re so fine,
you blow my mind. Hey Mickey!” I took very good care of them. Only a few are scratched, and one of my Pat
Benatar albums got warped after I left it in the trunk of my car for a couple
of years. The rest are pristine. I could totally pawn the bunch and easily
make the four thousand nine hundred and seventy five bucks I’m gonna owe you. You’d be a fool not to take this job!
There is no psychopath by the
way. Well, except for you. So, just take care of Shirley for me and you
can owe me that extra bullet-riddled corpse.
See? This job is getting easier
all the time.
Watch out for Shirley, though. No man can resist her charms. But she’s evil, I tell you. She made fun of my genitalia! Here's what she looks like: she’s brunette, a little over four feet tall,
and she weighs four hundred and fifty pounds.
She also has a giant mole on her lip in the shape of Nebraska . You can’t miss her.
If you decide to pass on this job,
be sure to let me know by next Thursday, so I can go to my safety killer. You might know him. His name is Anton Sugar, or something like that. I’m worried he’s not up to the task
though. He has a funny-looking haircut
that makes it extremely difficult to take him seriously.
OK. That’s it for now.
Your Pal,
Christamar Varicella
P.S. What kind of name is Cormac? Was your dad a magician or something? If not, I’m pretty sure you made that name up. It’s OK though, my name sounds made up too. Christamar means “Christ, a sea!” and Varicella is Latin, which I don’t even think is a real language.
What kind of name is Christamar?
ReplyDeleteIt's Mesopotamian. It means "Made up name."
ReplyDelete