Friday, June 24, 2005

A letter to Melvin While She Drives To Her First Day Of Camp

Dearest Amy:
It has been hours since we have last seen each other. As such, I thought it was more than fitting that I send you an e-mail.
Things have been going swimmingly, just swimmingly, at the Harrisburg Spoodles camp. Harry, your loving father, has been working hard at the sweatshop to put food on our table and in our mouths. He has also started a fanclub for the seminal 1970's metal band, Judas Priest. He is the president AND the vice president! He told me I could be the historian, but I don't cotton well to such things. Brenda, your mother, has been performing backbreaking labor. She trimmed the bushes, and is now performing her biggest undertaking yet: spreading tanbark about betwixt all of the gardens and lush vegetation on our vast expanse of fertile farmland. Daniel, your freshly-married and freshly-awesome brother, is currently out of town on business. As an auditor for the state, I am sure he is auditing something or other. I don't know. I don't really talk to him anymore, ever since he sat on my head and made me cry. Jennifer, your brother's blushing bride, is on a 13 day all-expenses-paid surf vacation to Maui. Either that or I haven't seen her this week. I'm not sure. As for Spoodles, your lovable me, I am currently working hard at the AMC Theaters for my fifth straight year, bringing home money with which to feed starving children, who surprisingly will eat money if they are starving enough. If you haven't heard, I'm a Staff Supervisor at the movie theater, and have been for almost a year! Feel free to mock me the next time you see me, because being the supervisor at a movie theater is like being the President of France. No real power. Also, I've been considering making the conversion to Scientology. You see, I've come to believe that Xenu, the intergalactic overlord from the planet of Xyxxxstyzzx, is actually real. Also, they told me to give all of my income to them and drink their magic Kool-Aid. It's not a cult, though. Oh, heavens no.
I do hope you are honing your skills for the ultimate Family Camp Three-on-Three Basketball tournament (and, to a lesser extent, the pinochle tournament). With the fattest brother, Dan, out of the picture for camp, you will make a fitting replacement on the basketball squad. Would that not be delicious if we got past the first round for the very first time in years with a girl on the team? A girl named you? DELICIOUS! Other things that will be delicious: pizza, yogurt, and peanut butter pie. Please keep a running total of the number of times you get to eat peanut butter pie over the summer. If you beat the current Guinness World Record of ninety-seven slices of homemade peanut butter pie goodness, I will give you two dollars and the keys to a 1984 Ford Crown Victoria, doors optional.
I suppose, now that I don't really have anything to make up, that I'll go. I told you I'd e-mail you, so there it is. It's just out there. For you to read. Go for it, Melvin.
Also, in case anybody is reading this, looking for hidden government secrets or perhaps for dirty words to censor, let it be known that for the last five years of Amy's life, she has been known to myself, my friends, and my parents as Melvin. She does respond to it. I hope this information is of use to your fine camp staff and maintenence crew.
Sincerely,
Spoodles, the first man on the moon
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