"Can you please name your bosoms Joanie and Chachi, if you haven’t already? I’ll gladly name my testicles Kip Wilson and Henry Desmond, or Larry and Balki, if it’s any consolation (‘cos by all means, their post pubescent growing pains me to speak of them at all). I think it’s a fair trade, and then we can be ’80s kitsch in every conceivable way as we taxi toward that bar where everybody knows our name(s), a different world with family (mafia?) ties. I don’t care what they say anymore, this is my life, I say with a twinkle in my mind’s eye as I type this into my antiquated word processor. We’re out of this world, or I’ll eat my cat. Thank you for being a friend, but ultimately, how will we ever know who’s the boss? I’ll leave that to Mr. Belvedere. Footnote: To all of you clever people, please don’t recommend “Small Wonder” for the name for my penis, as it is already named KITT. That is all."
- My friend Matt P.
