As I was cleaning out the attic, I came across some scary love e-mails. Wanna see?
Dear woman of mine,
God, how long has it been? An hour since you last e-mailed me? I sit here by the terminal, swiftly typing and waiting, hoping for the e-mail from you that I know won't come. How long will I sit here pining for you?
I remember the kiss we had like it was yesterday and still... still there was something missing because it was a start and something I have always wished I was man enough to finish. But I'm not and besides, I have to pee.
Bye.
The Man of your dreams... (oops)
Dear frisky lady,
The first time I saw you, I felt a great pang deep inside. I later realized that it was beaver fever. I haven't been able to eat meat since that time. Oh how I RUE the day I drank from that outwardly harmless babbling brook. I wonder, do such things transmit sexually?
Anyhow, what I'm trying to say is that I love you more than this chair I'm sitting on, but I wouldn't sit on you. That is, unless you wanted me to. And even then, I am not sure I would. Although, you might argue, if I loved you, I should.
I really like baked potatoes. But I like you even more. Do you know what it means that I say that to you? It means that I like you more than a spud.
Even if you had greasy hair and you were all stinky, I'd still come over to your house (but I'd probably sit on the other side of the room and maybe, I don't know... open a window or something).
I think if you were to accidentally break my baby toe by running over it with your silver motorcycle, I wouldn't be mad. Maybe at first, but then I'd realize it was an accident and then I'd be happy in a way because you would have left me something to remember you by. I little momen-toe...
But I digress. I love you more than I love picking at my scabs. Or picking my nose (hey, isn't it lunchtime soon?) and I think you know what that means... I'd like you to be my bride or my groom. I'd even wear a leash and do kinky S&M stuff with you.
I love you enough to shave your initials into my hair. I'd put them right beside the initials of my dog Franko. Oh hell, I'd even raze over Franko (the name on my head, not the dog) for you. Or maybe I'd raze little Franko himself for you. Here he is yip yip yipping at my feet. If you murdered him with your motorcycle, I'd be kinda disappointed, but I'd still love you. You'd just get haunted by his little doggie spirit for the rest of your days.
Yours Affectionately,
the man of your dreams
Dear woman o'mine,
Hey, it's the third day since I sent you that e-mail about killing my little dog Franko and how I'd love you anyhow. But Franko is still alive and well and I've heard nothing back from you.
Did I offend you in some way? I hope not, but I could pull my own nose hairs out one by one if that's what you required to give me your forgiveness. I have to admit that I kind of hope it isn't because once I had a really really long one hanging out of my nose and I pulled it out and even though I looked much better afterwards, it was really really painful.
I think Franko wants some food. Should I starve him to gain your love?
You are a cruel woman. Perhaps that's what I like about you.
- the man of your dreams
The lack of e-mail from you is driving me mad with passion. I fed Franko yesterday. I think he was getting really hungry. It had been almost 4 hours since I had fed him last.
You know, I like those jeans you always wear on Tuesdays. I don't want you to think I am stalking you because then you might call the cops and I'd have to stop. I don't mind if they fine me or give me a criminal record, but if they put me in jail, I wouldn't be able to check up on you all the time and that would really suck. By the way, on an unrelated note, have you considered sheer curtains? They do wonders for a room.
My boots have a big hole in them. I tell you this because I feel that I can tell you things and I know you'll understand. The hole is right up front by the toes which is surprising considering that they are steel-toed boots. Oh! Sorry. I hope you don't perceive that as a threat.
I had a great big zit on my forehead today, but I managed to apply enough pressure that it slowly and then quickly SPURT out all over the mirror and the rest of my face. I think some even went on my toothbrush. It was amazing. It was incredibly satisfying. It made me think of you.
Lovingly,
the man of your dreams...
Dear Angel,
You called them didn't you? The cops. They came to my door last night with my last love letter as evidence. They read it. I can't believe you let another read my letters to you. And yet, I find this strangely compelling, like you want the whole world to know of our love for each other.
I told the cops to come in and have some Spagettios because that's all I have in the house. I am sure it must be your favorite food for it is mine and Franko's also. The police did not want any canned pasta though so I got out my shotgun and politely asked them to leave. They tried to pull some guns of their own out but I was faster even with my shotgun. It took me most of the morning to "take care" of them. I hope you aren't scared because my shotgun only shoots tranquilizer darts at them. They are now sleeping peacefully out in the barn.
What should I do with the cops? I really don't know. It's such a difficult position you have put me in my love, but I know I know... it is just a test of my love and of my manliness... I will soon prove to you the fibre of my love.
Oh, NO! The cops have awoken and ...
My Dearest Love,
I sit here in prison for you. But really, what was my crime? My only crime was passion. Is loving you too much a crime?
Silently waiting...
Your Man
Dear Woman of my Dreams,
Since I've been sitting here rotting in prison for 3 months, I've had some time to think and upon reflection, you are not worth all this trouble I'm going through. I don't want to be the stalker of your dreams anymore, so I'm going to stop. Plus my lawyer said it would be good to write this to you.
No Longer
Your Man
I met another lady here in prison. She comes to visit us poor prisoners. Her name is Mupette. I like her more than I ever liked you. Jealous? Anyhow, when I get out, Mupette and I are moving in together and we'll be living on love. It's been nice stalking you, but it's time for me to move on. I hope you understand and are not too crushed.
Mupette's Man
Dear Arrogant Hussy,
Keep away from my man. Or else.
Mupette
Mupette is very jealous. She knows I am still writing to you. I think she knows about the fact that you secretly love me. You better stop or Mupette's probably going to do something bad.
Mupette's Man, not yours
Dear Floozy, My man got out of jail and we're leaving the country together. You are not welcome to join us. We're moving to Greenland. Don't ever go there or else.
Regards
Mupette
Boy, those get a little scary close to the end there, huh? There's nothing more after that. I don't know who the "dearest love" is nor who the man is or Mupette. I wonder what they're doing these days, but I don't really want to know.
Go back and read all the stuff you missed
e-mail me at rditzian@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca© September 1996 by Rachelle Megan Ditzian. All rights reserved.