Helsinki was kind of a bust for me, dude. It was great too see Lenni, and hang out with her for a couple of days, but, I swear, when it comes to Peter Pan, I just can’t unsee Hook. That movie changed Peter Pan for me, bruh. Ever since then, Robin Williams has been Peter Pan for me. Mos’ def’ one of Spielberg’s most fun movies to watch. You can tell the cast really had a good time making that movie.
The airport parking in Helsinki was full of Russian limousines, bruh. All the millionaires and billionaires in St. Petersburg had their chauffeurs drive them to Helsinki so they could go vacation in Europe. They just parked their limos in the airport parking lot and took their chauffeurs on vacation with them so they could just rent limos there.
Those sanctions against Russia are a fucking joke when it comes to western capitalism. Everything is always for sale, and if you want it bad enough, somebody will sell it to you.
I’m not gonna let myself get started on that shit, dude. If I get started I’ll be up all night trying to solve capitalism. It’s really just an accounting problem—as in accountability—but I said I was going to stop…
I’m in London now, as you may have noticed from the postmark and The Rolling Stones stamp. As I bought that stamp, I was thinking about the time you and I saw them live in Birmingham during their Voodoo Lounge tour. I can still close my eyes and see Mick romping across the stage.
What a show, dude. Fucking August in Alabama. We must have been crazy. I was sweating like a drunk dyslexic singing 99 bottles of beer on the wall. As I recall, and this is by no means a clear memory, we woke up the next morning on the kitchen floor in some red neck’s single-wide mobile home with cock roaches prancing on our foreheads like Mick Jagger. Jesus, dude, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
Anyway, bruh, I’m in London now trying to figure out if there is really a chance to get back together with Magritte. It’s not going to be easy, I can tell. I’ve already screwed things up without even trying.
It all started when we happened on a homeless dude sleeping under a hedge over near St. Paul’s Cathedral. We wouldn’t have known he was there if he hadn’t farted. I mean it was like a blast from a foghorn, dude. I started laughing.
Of course, Magritte wasn’t amused. We had just had a very refined sushi dinner over on Fleet St., and we walking down to the River Thames to take in the Tower Bridge in the twilight. We were just strolling, casually holding hands when this rough sleeper (that’s what they call homeless people here) cut loose and woke himself up.
Magritte was indignant, or offended or something. Not quite sure what it was. Maybe she was just as startled as the rough sleeper was. She had been trying to convince me to go with her to pay her respects to Queen Elizabeth lying in state, but I had refused outright. She asked if I wanted to accompany her and I said, “No.”
She asked, “No, what?”
I said, “No is a complete sentence.” Then the rough sleeper farted. It was quite a surrealistic bit of punctuation. I laughed out loud. Couldn’t help myself.
Well, it went downhill from there. I remember saying something to the effect of the royal family has over thirty castles modernized and electrified while some people have to sleep on the ground under hedges. I may have made a joke about Harry and Meghan doing a podcast in which they interview parasitic poor people and propose ways for them to become more productive. I may have also suggested Russell Brand could probably do a good interview with the guy under the hedge and that, given his facility with self-expression he had potential to be a standout candidate for the House of Lords in Parliament.
Did I mention that Magritte is totally enamored with British royalty?
She kept walking down toward the Thames and I followed along dutifully, but I can tell you for sure we weren’t holding hands any more.
The mood lifted for me when we got down to the river. Ran into an American dude wearing a reparTEE saying “Just fine. How about you?” I’m gonna tell you, this dude is one of your biggest fans, bruh. He loves your sense of humor. He swears his favorite part of the day is picking out the reparTEE he’s going to wear.
I told him I’d talk you into visiting him in Savannah when you and I are looking for a road trip destination with some seafood at the end of the drive. He promised to show us a good time. Put that on your todo list, bruh.
By the way, that’s Magritte’s back you see behind the dude wearing the reparTEE. Even when I’m not taking a photo of her, she is the one I’m focussed on. What does that tell you, bruh? I have a feeling I’m going to hang out here for awhile and see if I can work things out with Magritte. We’ve had worse spats, and she doesn’t hold on to her anger for very long, so there could be a chance.
I’ll be in touch soon and let you know how things are going.
Good luck with your launch of the ‘Rocket Man’ collection. I know how much you like puns… that one just slipped out, but I’m kinda proud of it. I’m sure Elon is gonna be thrilled with the ‘Mars or Bust’ shirt. Kick ass, bruh!
Ciao for now.
You pen pal
P.S. BTW, the dude from Savannah is named Brett. Is that Southern or what? He might be the one to take over the reparTEES adoption program when you get around to setting that up. I only spent a few minutes with him, but I’m sure he would do a great job. Think about it.