A Letter to Hugh (2): Be My Alien

Hey Hugh,

What a fockin story bro. I hope you’ve recovered. I was wondering where you’ve been. Tallahassee is the shit. Glad to hear you survived another bender.

The John stuff, yeah, that’s good stuff. But it also makes me wonder, why is everything/everyone named John? And seriously, if you solicit a hooker and your name is John, what name do you give?

Quick question for you. Will you be my Alien? Like, I know we’ve had conversations about what Aliens think about us when they look down from their spaceships.

They’ve gotta look at our transportation systems, roads, cars and just be like, “Why are they all stuck in a line waiting to get somewhere?”

or

“Why are 70,000 people stuffed into a structure to watch big overweight men run into each other.”

or

“Why does everyone spend so much time mowing their lawns?”

But yeah, I need you to be that guy for me. The alien that looks down and says, “Yo, Fock, no one is paying attention to you. Get over yourself. Stop freakin out about everything.”

Thanks Hugh,

Talk to you soon,

Fock

 

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