Dear Connor (2 28 )

Hello You

I would be responding to, and hopefully helping out with, your lovely songs, dearest Conor, except I lost your let… errr … Except .. hmmmm ..

You know how people are supposed to store up their treasures in heaven, instead of on earth? Well, your letter was just so spiffy keen that I asked for it to be stored there immediately and, as luck would have it, the mimeographed copy was smeared, so I am not sure of all the words anymore. I do think, though, oh mustachiod wonderkin, that one could use the word baby a few less times; especially if one is writing a Country and Western song and not the screenplay for a movie entitled ‘Beatnik Holiday’.

Really, I don’t look like a Scandinavian folk singer. That was just a bad day. Or a bad week. Or a bad month. Or a wretched year. Possibly an awful life.

Yes: It’s An Awful Life A movie wherein a young Scandinavian folk singer (well! young-ish…not too terribly ancient? Piss off? )dances in the hills and dreams of a better life until she runs into the boy called Wart, who whisks her away to the State Fair in Oklahoma, where the winds come sweeping down the plain, the Bali is high, the South Pacific girls dance to the tune of The Music Man and across the way Tommy sings of the sheer joy of discovering how we are all our own celebrity deity and we are all governed by Jesus Christ Superstar.

Unfortunately for young Wart, just as he’s about to get his big kiss, the folk singer is whisked away by Elvis Presley to a Clambake in the mystical land of Brigadoon. Where she is teased mercilessly for looking like a beer keg, believing in the sanctity of squirrels, oh .. and also never drinking before noon, except during the work week.

Is it too early to propose? I am just thinking that we could do an awful lot towards accomplishing life goals together and bringing out the best in each other. Such as ..oh .. I always wanted to dam up Niagara Falls. Just to see if it could be done. Which is not, I am sure you will agree, really an act of terrorism .. it’s just good clean fun, and utilizing one of the biggest showers in existence. However, the Feds are sure not to see it the same way, but .. well, I need help, and I need it to be the sort of help that cannot legally be coerced into testifying against me later.

Either that, or I could just behave myself. But, really Conor, what fun is that?

Did I say that the perfect man shouldn’t be a heavy drinker? And, did I clarify what a heavy drinker is? You know, I used to drink a lot, when I was drinking, but I did not consider myself on the list of heavy drinkers all the same (though I could usually drink them under the table) because, oh so eloquent one, I could go without and often did .. and given a choice between paying rent or buying a beer and coming up short, I bought a beer. No, wait .. I paid the rent. Then I gave blowjobs in the back alley for the price of a beer each.

It is amazing how many men need the services of a good hair dresser, Conor. And, when they can’t find one who is available at 2:am they come to me instead. Yep, I am always being asked by guys if they can come over so I can blow them. Most of them think, though, that since I don’t have a license, my time isn’t worth much if anything at all. I do get some though that offer $200.00 and more .. I guess because of the odd hours. Don’t you think?

At any rate, I tell them that I am not a hairdresser and then they start asking me if they could interest me in joining some sort of circus act, involving chickens and donkeys. Well, mules, actually, I guess. Apparently they take a large, live male rooster who has been kept in an incubator and shove him into the mule. I suppose this is like some Stupid Pet Trick version of a human putting their head in a lion’s mouth.

When I find your letter, I will certainly be glad to work on the songs and see if I can come up with anything helpful. It seems like you have left me an awful lot of leeway. I would say your songs are somewhere down around 2 on the scale of singability/listening and a good song should be at least at 75, so, that leaves me a lot of room to maneuver and … oh dear.

The sad truth is, I liked them. Which, reminds me. Will you tell me about Coma Boy? Did I get that name right? One of the things Paul told me is that you made up stories about Coma Boy .. this is when he was giving me fair warning that I might not be up to your standards as regards deviant thinking, or somesuch. I countered with a tale of my Reggie The Evil Milkshake comic strip which is still in the works. So he agreed that we are probably suited to converse, so long as I don’t offer to show you any Stupid Pet Tricks. He was very adamant about that: Said something about talk of Tits and Pussies being strictly off limits. Which is fine, because they are 1)hardly my favorite sort of animals and 2)arch enemies, anyway: the one always hoping the other one gets eaten.

Anyway, the point, outside of a love for David Letterman, to the tirade. . errr. . paragraph above is that while Paul did tell me that you had stories of Coma Boy, he did not actually tell me how any of them go. So I am wondering if you would, please, tell me a tale or two???

Righty I have to go. May write again soon as I am in one of those typing sort of moods.

Thank you for writing to me, Conor, and God bless you for putting up with me lol

Arletta