Are you dead?

From: Michael

Date: Monday, April 7, 2014 at 2:34 PM

To: Douglas

Subject: Are you dead?

Dear Douglas,

Once again, your lack of responsiveness is disappointing, just as most of your youth was—and let’s be real, your adulthood has been, too.  Since you told me last week that over the weekend you would be tending to your apartment, which was “in dire need of cleaning,” I can only surmise that your silence is due to either a) the intimate interaction with the toxic filth coating the entirety of your apartment must have killed you, or b) the inordinate amount of physical labor required to adequately cleanse your biohazard of a bachelor pad caused you so much fatigue, your mind and body simultaneously collapsed into a comatose state of shock. Perhaps residual grime in your quarters is akin to Samson’s locks and is necessary for carrying out your day to day heroics, such as rolling off your mattress by nine, commuting to work on subsidized public transportation, pretending to look busy at the office while you surf the web, and returning home without falling off the subway platform; Lysol is just your life’s Delilah.

Damn you suck, Douglas.

Sincerely,

Michael

Thanks

From: Michael

Date: Saturday, April 5, 2014 at 4:27 a.m.

To: Douglas

Subject: Thanks

Dear Douglas,

Thanks for sharing the blog, http://crabbyoldfart.wordpress.com, with me. This guy is a hoot, and I have been reading his posts with much delight. His writing is wildly entertaining, and I find myself quite sympathetic with his contempt for young people. My favorite line was in the post “they’re all toting guns,” when he said, “[These days] Junior won’t go to church or school unless he has the latest Smith and Wesson handgun tucked into the elastic waistband of his Spongebob underpants.”

As always, I appreciate your recommendations of music and writing. In this day in age, when it seems everyone with a guitar and a computer is a musician or a writer, it is a daunting task to find the individuals whose work is actually worth a damn.

Sincerely,

Michael

This Weekend

From: Michael
Date: Friday, April 4, 2014 at 2:31 PM
To: Douglas
Subject: This weekend

Dear Douglas,

Your recent caricature of me aroused my most violent laughter, for which I sincerely thank you; I have not found anything so amusing since you were wandering the streets some years ago with that bacteria infested soul patch occupying the vast shade beneath your bottom lip. I was also encouraged to see that you apparently have spent no small amount of time recently sifting through your thesaurus, which I suppose you happened to finally discover buried beneath the unhygienic pile of clutter that covers the entirety of the floor of that unfortunate little apartment of yours. Nonetheless, however absurd your response to me was, I was glad to finally hear from you, and I appreciated you taking a five minute break from that idle paradise you call life in order to call on your dear oldest brother.

I was curious what you were up to this weekend. If you are able to muster enough will to shower, brush your teeth, dress yourself in a semi-coherent fashion, and wander beyond the front door of your apartment, you are welcome to come down here for a brief visit. But if you don’t make it, I sure won’t miss you.

You heard any north Louisiana news from our folks recently? They don’t call me much anymore, but since you are their baby, I’m fairly certain you still talk to them on a daily basis. Please tell them hi for me when you talk to them today.

Sincerely,

Michael


 

From: Douglas
Date: Friday, April 4, 2014 at 3:29 PM
To: Michael
Subject: Re: This weekend

Dear Michael,

I won’t be able to make it in this weekend. I have a busy weekend, actually. My unfortunate little apartment is in dire need of cleaning. I would take care of such responsibilities during the week, but having a job typically prevents me from doing so. I also have some prior commitments to fulfill with acquaintances in this region that you hate so much.

I regret to inform you that I do not own a thesaurus. You see, while you were in high school drinking yourself into oblivion with your good-time buddies, I was merely a boyish elementary student eager to learn the intricacies of the English language. I carried that fervent ambition into high school and continued to develop a robust vocabulary, which has served me well to this point. Nevertheless, I am still proud that upon your fourth valiant attempt at a college education, you managed to make up for numerous years of futility and underachievement.

I find it rather offensive that you call my daily life an “idle paradise.” While I envy your days filled with reading pessimistic musings from great philosophers and playing paddy-cake with a two-year-old, I have chosen to spend my time working a full-time job. I wouldn’t expect a freeloading misanthrope like you to see the irony in calling my lifestyle and idle paradise.

Like a good son, I speak with our parents roughly once a week. I might be their favorite, though I could not say for certain. However, our mother never had to worry about me having some semblance of a respectable future, and I make an effort to call them when I am able. These could be simple factors that have put me in their favor, but you would have to ask them.

Tell my nephew to be patient, as I plan to visit soon. I will contact you soon with more details.

Sincerely,

Douglas

 

 

 

What’s Your Problem?

From: Michael
Date: Thursday, April 3, 2014 at 3:21 PM
To: Douglas
Subject: What’s Your Problem?

Dear Douglas,

I am writing to you with great annoyance at your unresponsiveness over the past week. What have I done, I wondered, to deserve such insensitivity from you, my dear brother? After all we’ve been through? After all our parents and I have done for your upbringing and development? This is the gratitude I receive? A cold shoulder and a bad attitude?

After spending no more than a minute agonizing over your discourteous behavior—which is the maximum amount of time, I reason, you are worth troubling my good-natured spirits over—I suddenly realized the source of your rudeness. It is clear that you are distraught over my recent departure from that overcrowded cesspool of a city you call home, and you are lonely now that I am no longer living in your immediate proximity.

Your feelings are justifiable, though the resultant behavior toward me is not. You know well, dear brother, my desperate need for space, tranquility, and clean air, which is why I fled the Beltway and assumed residency south of the James River. For the five years I lived in DC, I felt like I was living in a cage at a chicken factory. I was slowly suffocating from the constant racket, the filthy air, and the corrupt buffoons in business suits who were as numerous as the stars in the sky. Since fleeing that crooked station of decadence, my health and morale have been restored to levels not seen since my adolescence. Rather than holding an indignant grudge, why don’t you just be happy for me that I have recaptured my life from the fatal jaws of degeneration?

Seeing how you obviously miss my charming presence, and since 100 miles is all that separates us, why don’t you climb that whiny ass of yours into your spiffy new truck and come down here and visit? If you don’t want to come to see me, at least come to visit my son—your nephew—you selfish turd.

Sincerely,

Michael


From: Douglas
Date: Thursday, April 3, 2014 at 4:33 PM
To: Michael
Subject: Re: What’s Your Problem?

Dear Michael,

As I have conveyed to you numerous times through an array of communication modes, your self-righteous attitude is becoming unbearable. I recognize your excitement of moving to a new locale with less traffic and more obesity, and I too hope to experience such a transition in the near future.

However, your brazen attempts to use your own child to guilt my “whiny ass” into driving 100 miles to your rustic setting south of the James River is becoming tiresome. Perhaps I am selfish; perhaps I have things to do. In any sense, your hypocritical jabs, calling me selfish, are as ironic as they are pedantic.

On a different note, if your health and morale have now been restored to levels you have not seen since adolescence, that frightens me a great deal. If you recall, your “adolescent level” of health was that of a 16-year old alcoholic and third-rate athlete with a bum shoulder. If your health and morale have indeed returned to this dismal level of lethargic shame, how were you even alive before your relocation?

As my eldest brother, I would be remiss if I failed to thank you for your profound influence upon my upbringing. I would not be the man I am today had it not been for your drunken flatulence upon my head in front of your degenerate friend with the earrings. In retrospect, the times you held my head in the toilet were merely character-building exercises. I hope you choose to tap into that same paternal instinct once again with your own son.

I will come visit you soon. However, the visit will be on my own terms, you lazy jackass.

Sincerely,

Douglas