DEAR PHILLY (DO YOU REMEMBER ME NOW?)

DEAR PHILLY: You probably don’t remember me but we were with the same agency in Milan years ago. You were always high on hash with that ex-football player dude that everyone was afraid of. You were always telling stories about your crazy friend Ron back in Oklahoma and rock climbing and shit like that. I remember you kept going on and on about how you were convinced your penis fluctuated in size depending upon your overall mental state and how you could gage how good of shape you were in by how deeply inset your butthole was when you went to wipe. That story about how long it took you to finally realize it was you that had been breaking the hinges on every toilet seat in every place you had ever lived because you were a side wiper... Man, that’s some funny shit. As if you thought everyone wiped from the side. Haha. I just remembered your eyes lighting up and saying that was probably why the left side of your back was always going out. Anyway, I saw you again in New York just a couple of years ago and even though you said you did, I could tell you didn’t remember me. It’s alright, man, I wasn’t offended. We were both shooting jobs at Milk Studios and you said you had gotten remarried and that you had a kid on the way. I hope all is well. You said you were still writing but had only gotten your poems published. Oh, when I told you I was a writer too, you said, “Oh, man, I’m sorry to hear that.” That was really funny. You remember me now? Anyway, I’ve been reading some of your stuff on your little blog lately and I think it’s really out there, man. That Skeet Giddens shit is crazy! I was hoping I could send you some of my stuff to see what you thought. I write mostly screenplays. Most of my stuff is sort of futuristic sci-fi/thriller type stuff and yet they’re also sort of retro film noir. But the piece I want to send you is totally different. In my mind I see it shot more like The Bicycle Thief which is my favorite movie. Have you seen it? Anyway, the story takes place in California just after WW1. It’s loosely based on my great grandfather and his two younger brothers who all three fought in the war. I won’t tell you anymore other than it’s called the Bricklayer. Let me know if you would be interested in reading it. Hey, also, didn’t you say you wrote a graphic novel with some famous comic dude? Whatever happened with that? Oh, and are you still modeling? I finally gave it up. I now work in real estate. All the best, DO YOU REMEMBER ME NOW?

DEAR DO REMEMBER ME NOW? No, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you. It’s a condition I have. Please don’t take it personally. Haha. I DO remember smoking enormous amounts of hash and telling those stories in Milan. The penis fluctuation stuff is true and so is the butthole distance being a good gage for fitness. William Smith was the ex football player turned model. Edgiest fucker I’ve ever known. We’ve recently gotten back in touch with one another. He’s moving back home to Arkansas as we speak. He has a beautiful wife and a boy. Went cold turkey on the booze years ago. Unfortunately, I still wipe from my right side and have to replace my toilet seat more often than one should. The movement is too deeply ingrained and I can’t seem to make the change-up. I have a little boy named Henry now. He’s just amazing. My wife and I are doing fine. Still trying to become a writer. Yes, I’ve seen the Bicycle Thief. One of the greatest movies of all time. Still not sure what’s going to happen with the graphic novel. Probably nothing. That’s how the shit goes sometimes. Yes, I still model although I’m currently in one hell of a slump. I just can’t seem to care enough about anything to get myself going again. As for your writing, come on, man, don’t you know the worst thing a writer can ever do is ask another writer for their opinion? The fact that you feel you need to ask someone like me what they think of your writing tells me that you’ve got a long way to go as a writer. Besides, who the hell has time to read some struggling writer’s shit? If I had time to read, I’d be spending it reading all the writers I haven’t gotten around to reading yet. Time’s running out for all of us. It’s a goddamn conveyer belt and all of sudden it’s us at the end of it, waiving goodbye as we flop right over the edge. I thank you for your comments on MY writing though. I’m especially glad you like Skeet. He’s rather dear to my heart. I’ve been meaning to get back to writing that shit again. Hey, actually, I’ve just started writing some new shit and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. Would you be willing to take a look at it? No pressure. I was just hoping to get a different opinion on it? If not, no worries as again, I'm certainly not going to read your shit. But let me know. 


p.s. Real estate! For real?