To continue on for as long as I'm not bored with it. Updated as often as the whimsy strikes.
I totally forgot what's going on here because you never update.
The letter is sitting here, staring up at me rather tantalizingly. I'd have probably opened it on my own even if you hadn't told me to. I mean, how long can a person really resist the unspeakable allure of a certified letter? Who would go through the trouble to certify that this information gets to me?
I pace back and forth a few times, just to let the awesomenocity of letterhood rest palpably in my palm for a few more moments. There are some things in life you just have to savor, and mail is one of them.
Another one of them is gummy worms.
But I digress! It's time to get down to business here, the business of opening mail. It's times like these that I sometimes wish I had invested, in my youth, in a letter opener. It would be the sweetest of sweet victories to get to rip the envelope open with a piece of cold metal, rather than just using my fumbly fingers to peel away the raggedy edges of previously spat upon paper.
But such is life. No letter opener, no cool "Eye of the Tiger" hardcore envelope shredding. Peeling will have to do.
I slide my pointer finger under the envelope's flap, and begin to delicately pry it away from the rest of the letter receptacle. I am barely three seconds into this process, however, when my front door bursts open.
It is Sam Michael Beauregard Drizt, my best friend. He's a recent poet celebrity and ever since his fame has spread to the local level, he's given up on believing in things like "knocking".
"Hey, Joey, what's up?" He says.
"Not too much, Drizt, I was just about to open this Certified Letter I got."
"A Certified Letter?" he cries, snatching it out of my hands. "Who from?"
Slightly irritated, I sigh, "I don't know, Drizt, that's why I was opening it!"
"Well, I think since I'm the famous one here I should get to read it first."
"Drizt, that doesn't make any sense. How does you writing poetry mean you get to read MY mail before ME?"
Drizt looks at me sympathetically. "Oh, Joey, when you're a world-famous rock-star like me, you will understand. But right now you haven't felt the spleen-splattering pain inflicted by life's arrows, and for that...I envy you." And he shreds the envelope open with absolutely no ceremony.
I stand, doing my best not to absolutely freak out, as Drizt reads my letter. His face goes from jovial to panicked. "Oh, Joey, it's a good thing I got this before you did. It's from the llamas."
"The llamas?!" I cry. They must need me for some new, exciting adventure! "They must need me for some new, exciting adventure!" I say aloud so Drizt can hear. "What is it?"
"Now, Joey, we talked about this. Didn't you make me pinky swear with you that we'd never go on another llama-induced adventure?"
Oh yeah, that's right, I did. "But I was in a state of pain over the loss of my brother at that point! I wasn't thinking clearly!"
"Joey," Drizt said calmly, "How do you know this adventure won't lead to even more brother loss?"
"Well, for one thing, I don't have any more brothers to lose, and also, I don't even know what this adventure is. It could be going across the street to pick up some milk for all I know."
"I'm sorry, Joey, I can't let you do this to yourself again," Drizt dramatizes. Then, swiftly, deftly even, he rips the letter, MY letter, into tiny pieces.
WHAT SHOULD I DO NOW, INTERNET??