Open Letter of Lament

To: KING OF THE INTERWEBS
CC: jolly porter

Dear King of the Interwebs,

Breaking against his advice, I need to tell you that I miss the jolly porter. Announce it from high atop this fifth-floor walk-up just below the George Washington Bridge. THE JOLLY PORTER IS MISSED! I MISS YOU JOLLY PORTER!

I understand every reason the jolly porter put an end to his adventures -- now wait! The man behind the porter will have adventures on end, we will just not be reading and (often) re-reading them every couple of days or hours. I understand the reasons, but miss him all the same. He said his leaving was no one's fault but his own. I think that he saw TB and AG on the interwebs and the interwebs suddenly became passé. Also, I look fat in this and the porter only goes for phat.

In the spirit of further excruciatingly painful eulogizing, here for your enjoyment is a list.

WHAT I LOVED ABOUT THE JOLLY PORTER
by ZRZ: Space Pirate

1. Pictures of a bald man with a mustache.
2. Adventures in foreign lands that I have never been, complete with top hats and poet shirts.
3. Tales of an amazing family with more kids than I have ever met.
4. An inroad to the inspiring story of family and friends coming to aid a family in the face of great tragedy.
5. Pictures of a bald man with a beard.
6. The realization that a drama teacher in Utah leads a more exciting, jet-setting life than most everyone in the city that never sleeps.
7. The slightly perturbed look on the face of the porter at the size of the trunk perched on his shoulder.
8. Pictures of a bald man with a flower behind his ear.
9. Complaints about students disguised as essays on inclusion.
10. Lists of things to watch, read, see, and enjoy. Or else.
11. Pictures of a bald man who owns it!
12. Poetry for the sake of poetry.
13. Quick smiles on sour days.
14. Photo essays featuring a man with little to no hair and glasses that must be very good friends with the jolly porter.

And so it goes. Thank you, jolly porter. I... oh god, emotion. Let me just take a peek for old times' sake, and--



"PERMISSION DENIED
It doesn't look like you have been invited to read this blog. If you think this is a mistake, you might want to contact the blog author and request an invitation."

Just like that the locks are changed. The toothbrush removed. The stereo sold.

Then just goodbye. Goodbye.

Love eternal and creepy,

ZRZ: Space Pirate


P.S. Tell the bald man to give a call sometime. When he's not posing for photos.

Number 9

The porter is gone and it took three days to find out.

Oh my.

Oh no....

The Following Five

Circus and boats and enotecas and Marxes. Don't tell Devon. He's the only one that reads this.

Flawless Design

I like your item very much. I want to buy your item and you will please take it off jimspost now. I am ok with the price but can only pay by postage stamps at this time b/c i am away from my wallet and visiting friends at the Lincoln, Nebraska, USA. I have sent you a money order and you will get it in 7days. Hello. Please give me your name, address, phone number, social security, shoe size, eight pennies, and pitchers of you with row of ducklings and my assistant will send you the payment. As per pick-up, I will make arrangement for pick-up it when you receive my payment. I will add several hundred dollars and a steak dinner for you holding it in my favor. It is my best item I have ever seen and you will take it off jimspost it is sold to me. I am hard of hearing b/c I can only send you money orders. Hello. Thank you. I love you. I am you. Hello.
Expecting to hear from you soon.
Regards.

Yes.

Morning Calisthenics

The sneaky girl thought she had the perfect heist in her hands. She believed that the afterthought of asking would cover her tracks. Her fatal flaw came from her own surprise as she noted the change of wallet. He turned quickly, anticipating the rush of sweet smugness, to tell her just how long the wallet had been changed. There she stood rifling through the bills in said wallet. He hesitated, the smugness crashed to the floor, and his left elbow jerked. He had never seen her looking in his wallet without first asking. His innocence smashed to the floor, mingling with the pool of freshly-dropped smug.

He inquired as to how dare she.

She claimed she had all intentions of asking.

He moved towards her.

She wanted to know what bills he had on hand before she asked for one so that she had no chance of being disappointed.

He told her that disappointment was a dish best served with lemon.

Just as he lunged for her, she threw the wallet into his chest, sending him into a tumbling reverse cartwheel. She made a dash, but he turned his tumble into an elegant sideways swan dive, landing just in front of the door, blocking her passage. He grabbed for her with both arms, surely one would land. She ducked and slid between his legs, leaving him hugging a great gulp of air. She stood and began a series of forward handsprings as he began darting keys from his ring at her. None met their mark, but their pinging against the living room wall startled her enough to run into the chaise. He seized the moment and dove for her ankle. Still dazed from the previous assault, she could not help but become his captive. He dragged her back toward the bedroom and swung her around like a lariat of long girlish hair and pajama pants. She cried for him to stop and he did, letting go at once. She flew through the air and landed upon the marshmallow bed.

They paused. Looked at each other.

She made an excuse.

He pushed aside the drying smug with his foot.

They ate scrambled eggs and toast.

The wallet sighed.

A panda bear wondered why he never learned Chinese.

The marshmallow bed hoped to one day become the perfect s'mores.

She asked him for the money. He complied. And the wallet. And the panda. And scrambie eggs. And the bed came one step closer to realizing its dream.

The Uneventful Middle of Richard the Ninth

Eating lunch beneath gray skies on a foreign patio in a distant backyard, Richard the Ninth looked into his sandwich and noted that some areas of his deli-sliced ham were colored slightly different from other areas. He wondered if this affected the flavor of the ham, having pink portions next to faded pink next to pale pink next to white. The lettuce he had removed from his sandwich certainly tasted different and was an altogether different color from the ham. The same held true for the mustard he had carefully scraped off with a the sandwich's wrapper. If color dictated flavor, then surely the day's gray sky tasted much more bland than the bright blue sky on a sunny day. Gazing at the sky, Richard the Ninth took a bite of his sandwich and between bites decided he would prefer said bland taste of a gray sky.

Shortly after, he finished his sparsely-flavored sandwich of ham and white bread. He picked up the discarded ingredients and bits of wrapping. He took great care in removing every crumb from his area. He left the backyard as he had found it, ensuring that the residents of the house never knew their patio had been visited and dined upon by the infamous and altogether unknown Richard the Ninth. A day or so later, he found his way back to his own home and made a sandwich.

Time Tells

The first thirty minutes of her day she spent lying in bed pondering the clock, questioning its honesty, convincing herself that it changed at its own whims rather than scientific certainty. When she finally made the roll over to confirm her conjecture she was relieved to find that this same battle of wills the previous morning had driven her to unplug the clock. It could not lie with no numbers on it face. But then, she thought, time continues on and the clock says nothing. Figuring that no better than lying, she quickly cursed the clock and rolled back over to shun it outright.

Twenty minutes later she wondered if the clock was sorry.

An hour later, she despised the clock and refused to ever look at it again. She nearly gave up on time altogether deciding that everyone and everything lied and any device that boasted to know the exact time at any point lied the most. This implicated time itself as a liar by association.

Two hours later she was hungry...

On a Monday Morning

Lo! they will gather together in the square of kings to celebrate the sun emerging from yon forest. The gathered shall include, but not be limited to, the mastermind of Styx, the Speedwagon's maitre, multitudes of the eldest travelled forth from yon high school, we with the toast upon our fronts, a participant pair of the Great White Way, those who worship the past of androgyny and 1980s bacchanalia, and Colonel Sanders. They and we and the collected passersby shall gather with boards and signs and slogans and the shouting of woos to be transmitted across the country for one-twelfth of one day so that people may understand the true beauty of humanity. So they may finally understand all of the words to "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore." So they may receive their free Kentucky grilled chicken. So they may listen and receive the full word of the woo! Woooo! WOO!

Opposite Snow

In the warmer climes, during the warmest of months, dirt falls from above a filthy precipitation. Soot, ash, and the darkest of dust blanket the land and await the local children who run about in glee, shouting, "It's the opposite snow! The opposite snow!" Indeed, they must all keep their tongues in their mouths for these are the days of the opposite snow.