72 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
72 lines
4.0 KiB
Plaintext
s$
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1097
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[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "An Open Letter To Clayton Fraser"
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by Soybean
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ 06/16/00
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[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
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Correspondence from Clarence, a Small Purple Dinosaur, to Clayton
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Fraser, in Light of His Abandonment of Clarence in a Shower
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Clayton:
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Some might think that life as a dinosaur would be one of relative
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leisure, especially taking into consideration my relative lack of natural
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predators due to my heavily armored flesh. Alas, those of that opinion
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are quite wrong. While my plate-lined back protects me from being
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physically devoured by enemies, these bony protrusions do little to shield
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me from real predators - those who see fit to devour my heart. To injure
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a heart one passes not through tough exterior flesh, but instead reaches
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that soft place via gentle words, meaningful glances, and purposeful
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caresses. Traversing this path is something you are obviously quite
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skilled at, as your words, looks, and touches made me absolutely
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vulnerable. I laid awake at night imagining our future together - a
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future filled with frolicking in bright sunlight and velvety green grass,
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of late nights sharing stories and fantasies and each others' company.
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I remain sleepless each night. However, I no longer am brimming
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over with happy ideals of our future together. I am instead pensive,
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lachrymose. Whatever future is left for us is not one of warmth - it is
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one of time alone, neglected, left damp and shivering in the shower. I am
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a cold-blooded creature, you irreverent fool! If I am left in climes such
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as this, illness is the inevitable result. I have no source of warm
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outside of the sun, your lamps, and your hugs. Have you no concern for
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this? The answer is obvious.
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If I had the power of God at my disposal, I would smite your country
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with frogs, as God threatened the pharaoh of Egypt in Exodus 8:2. As I am
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a mere dimetron, and extinct to boot, such pervasive plagues are far beyond
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my current means. All I have at my disposal is my thoughts and a keyboard,
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and whatever energy I am able to summon to heave my massive body from key
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to key. If this letter does not suffice in communicating my feelings to
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you, I am at a complete loss. I will become wholly useless. This is the
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slow, sick, suckin' part of me.
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The perils of your eyelashes torture my libido into a state of crass
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belief in Roman Catholicism. But I am now alone. Your cleverness ferments
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meat without the need of oxygen. I am alone and damp. The tiny sounds of
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ancient bees resound forth from the forested coercions between your toes.
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I am alone, damp, and cold. Seven donkeys and a concubine cannot compare
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with the tarnished sheen left in your path of combustion. You have left me
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here, alone, damp, and cold, in the maddening confines of this shower.
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May you always be as vivid as your hallucinations.
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"You would think a film with eight or so midgets beating the hell
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out of each other while crucifying a monkey and destroying machinery would,
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at the very least, be amusing," as was so eloquently stated by my human
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acquaintance, Mr. J arett Kobek. Indeed, one might assume that to be humor
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of the highest order, but while in the throes of this violent depression
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you have put in me, nothing is funny. What am I left with? I leave with
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this thought, verbalized by cartoonist Matt Groening: "Love is a snowmobile
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racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you
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underneath. At night, the ice weasels come."
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With Much Love,
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Clarence
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[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1097, BY SOYBEAN - 6/16/00 ]
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