My dear Mr. Sneekins,
Regarding the query you put to me in your letter of a few minutes ago, I must confess a certain loss if ideas or gumption pertaining to, or derived from, our mutual quest for a more suitable and rewarding occupation. Moreover, I have discovered in myself an infirm resolve to put off said quest until such time as the financial winds blow more auspiciously--although I admit that this tendency to "wait" is a perennial excuse for cowardice, not unlike that immortal ditherer, Hamlet, who let the native hue of resolution (action) be sicklied over with the pale cast of thought for most of that play which bears his name. On the other hand, it has been said by no less a venerable authority than a fortune cookie I once had, that "he who hurries cannot walk with dignity." On the other other hand, "a stitch in time saves nine." I leave you with these considerations as you pursue your own thoughts.
To conclude, I do regret the most unhelpful nature of these meditations upon a subject that is both dear and dreaded to yourself as well as myself. Allow me to further apologize for the general illogicality and gross bombast of a letter that I'm sure will only bring you great annoyance and contempt for what some may call my shriveled sense youthful ambition.
Yours most castratedly,
Philias Snelley.
* * *
dear phil,
i wrote like, half a response in the same vein as your last ridiculous email. and then i gave up. it's all very well and good for you to have such lofty ideals from where you sit, looking out the window of the mental institution, but some of us are out here working nine to five. sorry to be blunt, dude. honestly, i got so little money that the economic situation can't get much worse anyway. i'm thinking of going freelance. don't know how or where or when, but i'm hoping. anyway, dude, good luck with...whatever it is you do there, and maybe next time you write you can write me like a normal freakin' person from the 21st century, alright? i'll keep you posted, dork.
your pal,
sjefo.
* * *
{written while in the fetal position, from under a table, between weeping fits}
Mr. Sneekins, (no longer "My dear")
I must meekly protest against the tone and poor grammar of your letter of minute last. I find it in the poorest of taste to make light of my residence in The Temporary Home of Mental Sanctuary for Weary Thinkers. I am not ashamed of my mental-health-themed living situation, but nevertheless I must meekly and wimperingly protest!
Furthermore, I too "work nine to five" as you put it--I am working to "nine to five" every time I accept myself for who I am! I am working "nine to five" every time I look into the mirror and see a person who is not crazy! I would like to see you "work nine to five" while sitting in the Friendly Emotions Circle and sharing your secret inner-self as bravely as I do!! Dr. Speigelfritzen applauds my daily progress with what I believe to be sincere and candid moderation.
Further-ermore!! I challenge you to define, as you so eloquently put it, a "normal freakin' person"!! I submit for your consideration the possibility that such a person does not exist or at any rate such a person can only exist for maybe a few minutes, in utero, before the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune do dent and deform his inner self to such an extent that he is born weighed down with the eternal question marks of our human existence!!!
On a professional note, your notion of freelancing is a good one. I wish you the best of luck in that endeavor and will be sure to notify you if anything, as our Dickensian friend Mr. Micawber so frequently hoped, "turns up."
Yours most placated,
Philias Snelley
* * *
snells, you old rascal,
oh come off your high horse. the Temporary Home of Mental Sanctuary for Weary Thinkers? last time i visited, i'm pretty sure that the sign read 'the Terminal Habitat for Madness, Sorrow, and Wasted Time. i, i , i am a 'normal freakin' person'. i got my job, which does not once in the entire day consist of mooning over my sad reflection. i consult with no doctors, and although i do frequently attend happy hour, it is almost always AFTER work. and let me remind you, snelley-o, that the reason for your incarceration was not, as you, admittedly, quite eloquently put it, "born weighed down with the eternal question marks of our human existence!!" it's because you were in home ec class that one day when quincy smejkat spilled a jumbo box of sewing needles in your lap. i heard that you screamed non-stop for three hours.
anywho, best of luck with your 'career', too. can you hear me snickering from here? in case you can't, please find attached to this letter the tape that i've made of myself snickering. it's forty five minutes each side.
later,
sjefo
* * *
Sneekins.
I have listened to your tape several times now. When I am alone (never) or when I am allowed under supervision to have headphones taped to my ears, I listen to the tape you so thoughtfully sent with your last letter.
Yours snickers torment me.
I would forgive you, for you know not what you do, but I was just informed that I'm to "graduate" in two months time, at which juncture I will seek you and find you and continue this conversation with you.
Yours most murderously,
Philias Snelley
--as dictated to Neil Smeck, Security Companion, T.M.S.W.T Insitution
* * *
Telegram for Mr. Philias Snelley, Inmate #785 of T.M.S.W.T. Institution.
MESSAGE -- Phil STOP You're wrong STOP I know exactly what I do STOP You bring it on STOP If you can find me STOP Sjefo
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