|
|
|
|
|
March 31, 2005
Abigail Van Buren "Dear Abby" P.O. Box 69440 Los Angeles, CA 90069
Dear Abby,
I have a really complex problem. Here’s how it all went down:
My wife of 14 years recently split up with me because she just randomly decides one day that she doesn’t like the fact that I often put canned food products in the dryer for entertainment. Then she gets with this guy who calls himself “Wrench” and is like, this motorcycle dude. He always rides past my house on his motorcycle, with her on the back, using a certain finger to perform a certain gesture that at this time I cannot disclose to you. He even has flames shooting out of the exhaust pipe. It’s pretty cool, actually.
But getting back to the point – I was really depressed for about 17 days, and I was too sad to go to my job. However, they didn’t exactly sympathize with me, and soon enough I was out on the street. I came across this drunken circus clown who had just finished his cigarette, and he said something to me that I will never forget. “Hey kid, when life throws you down, just…” then his face met the sidewalk with a loud thump. I think he died of alcohol poisoning.
That made me even more depressed, because the dying clown symbolized the end of the last sliver of happiness that I had left. There was a police officer standing in the road, directing traffic, and I wanted to ask him if he’d seen my wife or that “Wrench” guy. He gave me a ticket for jaywalking.
So anyway, I’m trying to find my wife, so I roam the city, waiting for “DON’T WALK” to lose the “DON’T” and then crossing at crosswalks. I finally catch her eye in a local café but she ducks under the table so I don’t see her. Like that’s gonna work! I mean, come on. What does she think I is? Stupid? So I go into the café and confront “Wrench” in order to get my wife back. He says “She ain’t your wife no more, pal,” and breaks my jaw.
I awoke, dazed and half-dreaming, in a hospital bed, only to discover that my wife had left the country with her new boyfriend. I got up and pushed like ten doctors and nurses away, running out the door. I drove and drove until I reached the U.S.-Canadian border, then I hopped it without a passport. Then I found out she actually went to Mexico. What do you suggest I do?
Sincerely,
Kevin Dickinson “Desperate for Ham” |
|
|
|
|
