Dear Wendy, Please return my underwears…


From MENDO LISTSERVS

[This is a response to Wendy Roberts asking a neighbor to return her campaign sign, then when asked to produce evidence he took it, denied that she had accused him of taking it... -DS]

Dear Wendy Roberts,

While it’s still fashionable to pick on you, I wanted to get in a few more driveling snivels. Because what you did is preposterous and offensive. Wendy Roberts, please return my underwears immediately, no questions asked. The ones with the frog pattern are mysteriously ill-fitting, and I want them returned. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to sneak into my mansion between the hours of two and three in the morning two nights ago and not only purloin my favourite underwears, but also unfold all the other ones. I had them laid out in the specific orderly order that I like to wear throughout the week, and it’s very disturbing to me when that careful arrangement is disrupted.

I’m not accusing you of breaking into my mansion and stealing my private property; I’m just saying that it’s not appropriate for you to do that. Also, I’m having trouble finding my purple striped toe socks… well at least the left one. The right one I already lost in 1998, but also, I suppose it makes it harder to find such things when they are both completely fictional.

Speaking of works of fiction, I got this slick and greasy mailer from you in my PERSONAL PRIVATE mailbox. How did you even get my address? Will you stop stalking me?! Only friends are supposed to know my boxular coordinates, and usually my mail consists of missives scrawled on both sides of a balsa wood model airplane, or a letter written entirely in runic with a picture of an egg with an eye. Those sorts of things I treasure, but this… your pitiful attempt at a love letter trying to belatedly ingratiate yourself by smearing your opponent. How the chuck do you suggest I rid myself of your irritating full-page full-colour box-stuffer? Burning it would release too many toxins, and I don’t want to drive it to the flacking transfer station. Bury it in the backyard and let that poison leach into the ground water? No thanks.

I hate to disabuse you of this fantasy, but owning a home and being a Tower Baron does not qualify you for anything but owning a home and being a Tower Baron. Congratulations! Also, congratulations on being married to the same person since 1983 and having produced more than your replacement quantity of offspring, but again, not a salient data point in your tally for “Why Y’all Should Vote for Cheese” and also-also, in this same tiresome sentence, every time you mention Stanford, my tummy twitches, and I’m not sure why. Maybe I recognize it as one of your Top Ten Talking Topics for when you run out of actual content, not that I’ve heard much out of you that wasn’t practiced rhetoric that you not only sent “privately” to me, but also sent to many other listserv subscribers almost verbatim. And while it’s on my mind, being a Master Gardener is more a personal enrichment activity, not really something you should advertise as a Public Service. You want to add a Public Service to your list of hobby-lobbies and ego-fluffing participation? Get out of town.

No, really. And as I said, please return my underwears. They’re sitting here right next to me, and the receipt is in the bag. I’ll put your poncy mailer in there too, and hang it on my front gate just beyond my castle moat. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I need to get my Tuesday Voting Suit ready, starting with my superhero underoos, and go about my mean existence IRL, but I have two (2) more important things with which I want to leave you:

1) Don’t you ever, EVER, use a picture of my cove to promote yourself or anything associated with you. My ocean, my community, my personal private rock collection, so BACK OFF! Glossing into ASL: .:me signs– “you, copulate, away/other, you” brows furrowed, scowling face:.

2) Dan Hamburg has my vote, for about 263 reasons, not the least of which is I already ate of his promotional seaweed and can’t back out now! (Eating someone’s promotional product is quite the commitment, you see… maybe you could come eat /your/ promotional materials?) Dan isn’t spotless, but he’s real, he’s not a corporation, and most importantly, he’s an agreeable alternative to YOU. Now get out of my back yard.

Wettest Regards,

Molly
~~

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