Willy Nilly,
You good for nothing Beatnik!
How dare you write me that you don’t love me no more no more? Well, I got something you should know: I never did love you. It turns out all this time I’ve been under the influence of that esteemed hypnotist, The Inaccurate Otto Adz. I went to see his stage show with Skinny Mel and he took me onto the stage and put me under a trance with his pocket watch. When I came out of it, I loved you, I loved pinochle, and I had an insatiable desire for steamed cigarette butts. You just try asking around for a bowl of that! I can’t get satisfied. That Otto Adz! I sincerely hope someone puts a toad in his oatmeal.
I think often about us, Willie. I think about the time you said that you never cared for paper mâché until you saw the the way light shone through it in the morning, but there’s no windows in your house, and your door faces south. You son of a bitch. Where were you that morning, Willie? You sure as hell weren’t here. So we’re over, Willy, and we never even begun.
Now I’m here in Beernook, Iowa, with Moonie. I’m sending a flock of gooseneck sweaters, burgundy and raisin out across the borderline. You can ask me next time you see me if I give a damn about Sadie anymore.
XOXO, Mary Beth Masthead
P.S. Me and Moonie, we’re gonna run a whale bone down to Ol’ Mexico, gonna start us up a Grizzly Bear Pizza. You can come if you want, no hard feelings. See you in the pictures.