(Cato Iacono)
As promised here I am. Not much time to write today, we have to pull ourselves together and go to the realtors office. In the interim I must write a letter to the sellers, explaining that we are a young couple who've just had a baby, just moved to Sonoma, and find the place to be an absolute godsend where we hope to spend the remainder of our days, raising our family in a state of perpetual dreamlike satisfaction. The letter should raise no suspicions whatsoever that we are going to convert the place into a meth lab, that is not its purpose, etc.
I had hoped that Selavy's ploy would work and that my readership would increase by posting pictures of naked and suggestive women, but the opposite is true. My readership drops on those days. I believe I must have a bunch of housewives as an audience. So be it. My friend's moms have always loved me. Why not put on my song and dance pony show for them... Though perhaps calling myself a hybrid of Caligula and Helen Keller is what has caused my troubles. Who knows. Last night was a confusing one, to myself most of all. Beating myself like a senseless gong to shed the work-week gives rise to confused, cryptic writing. I guess.
Perhaps it's just me.
Now I go to write this letter of introduction, jockeying to be the ones to give the sellers our quarter of a million dollars.
Do you hear that Nadja? We're rich....
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