West Virginia

I've been busy downloading John Denver songs for the last month. Sorry.

And I've returned with no real purpose, which seems to be a theme I'm developing rather strongly throughout life. I had planned on writing about how excited I was after being accepted for a job in Costa Rica, but that didn't happen. Instead I got a letter from the head of the rainforest there which read like so:

Dear Mr. Idiot,
Your resume reminds me of a blog I used to read. That blog was never updated and went back to school for a masters, only to end up drinking and shagging fatties. Don't apply again.
Love,
A parrot

I also planned on typing about the fun visits I received from both friends and family in the past few weeks - comparing and contrasting the two, gossiping about which of my friends would sleep with which member of my family, carving images of my visitors into soft, moldable rocks - but I received another letter which read as such:

Dear Pagan,
You don't really have any friends or family. Your friends only stayed with you because Mr. Bean's house was being refurbished, and your family stole your credit card. Check your wallet.
Kisses,
An omnipresent parrot

I checked my wallet, and everything was true. Not only was my emerald card missing, but in its place was a picture of my friends laughing up a storm with Rowan Atkinson in the middle of Trafalgar Square. Never again, I swore, never again...

Never... again...

But to the back of the photo was taped a key. And in the corner of my room appeared a treasure box into which the key fitted perfectly. And when I opened the treasure box a whole horizon of futures emerged, accompanied by a chorus of pasts and a single, moving moment called the present. In other words, inside the treasure box was an egg and ham sandwich.

Removing the ham (as a poultritarian like me is won to due), I bit into the egg and bread. I didn't know why I did this. I just did it. And that was the whole point, wasn't it? I know I like egg. And I know I like bread. So I stopped wandering around my room like a hen with no pen and fooded myself. That's what I have to do with life, isn't it? I know I like apple juice, and I know I like the movie Hot Fuzz, so I just have to settle down and drink apple juice whilst watching that movie. Success will inevitably follow, won't it? Question? Like so and such:

Dear Harry,
You learned your lesson, which is why I can finally call you by your Christian name Harry. Unless you don't want to be called that. Is it even Christian?
Odors,
A parrot who is proud of his son.

PS Fly away, and don't ever look back.

PPS I'm not really a parrot, which explains how you could be my son. I am actually Professor Moriarty from the Sherlock Holmes tales! Here's a picture of us your mother took before she put you up for adoption.


PPPS Your mother actually is a parrot.

CHIPS <-- I've never seen it. Is it any good?