Sorry I didn't get a post in yesterday; I was too lazy to hike up to the computer lab last night after doing some homework. Your patience will not go unrewarded, however. As a condolance to your disappointment, I will do a very special post next Sunday.
If you were unaware, next Sunday is Super Bowl Sunday. For real sports fans, it is the greatest celebration of American sport and athleticism (I will talk about this later). This Sunday is a treasured day on my annual calendar, one in which I embrace sloth and gluttony with a happy drunken stupor. Any effort made on my part, therefore, must be worthwhile and consequential of a prior commitment. It is out of this commitment to you, dear reader, that my I will put forth an effort on my most lethargic day of the year. For my post, I will record everything I do from the moment I wake up to my inevitable pass-out. I will then post my scribbling (or a summary of it) here Sunday night or, more likely, Monday. I have no idea how it will turn out, but I'm sure there will be plenty of thought on hot wings, player mockery, and the Ranch Room.
Anyway, that was a bit winded. If you follow the jump, you can find a weird note I found in my Froot Loops box.
-WonderBread
My Dearest Petunia,
I love you. I love you within every fiber of my beaking*. I've grown to love you with each passing day by leaps and bounds of my heart. You are my everything; without you, I am but a crumble of dehyrdated corn syrup and artificial coloring.
But, I can no longer be with you.
You see, Petunia, I have drifted from you. I'm not sure how or when it started, but lately I have I just don't feel like we are right. I still love you, but I don't. I love you like a sister, a mother, and everything in between. Except, of course, as a lover.
There is another, Petunia. Another who has nothing to do with you. Your colors are still fluorescent, your fragrence still intoxicating. This other, though, this other is just...I don't know. The colors, life-affirming. The strenght, Herculaen. The scent, oh Kong**, the scent; I've never dreamed of such an invigorating concoction of guano, mango, and tree-sap. And that beak. I mean, damn girl, that bird has got it going on.
I know you must be angry, vengeful even. Well Petunia, there is something else you must know. Something you won't believe.
The other is none else than the one, the only,
Sonny.
Sonny has certain tangibles you can't offer me anymore, Petunia. Tangibles I need. Tangibles I crave.
I'm sorry Petunia,
Your Dearest,
Samuel
*This is how toucans refer to "being"
**To toucans, King Kong is God.
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