Sorry, dude, my mistake.
|The Monkey of Shame.1|
I am still trying to figure out, of course, why you broke into my suitcase to hide the memory card in my shoe. You must have known I hardly ever wear those shoes, but, regardless, your motivations for hiding my flash drive and making me look like an idiot are neither here nor there, given that nothing was actually lost and no permanent damage was done. To me, anyway, and that’s the important part.
Anyway, my apologies also for stealing your identity in a totally awesome but petty fit of revenge. I hope the credit-card payment for that three-hundred-dollar hooker—or the bills for the three hundred one-dollar hookers—didn’t get you into too much trouble with your wife or your girlfriend.
They’re both lovely people, by the way.
I’d offer to return the Ferrari that I bought with your kids’ college funds, but I’m afraid it’s run into some problems.2 I’d be more than happy, though, to send you a baggie filled with what’s left of it. The speedometer needle and about two-thirds of the oil dipstick are in really good shape.
|I took this picture right before the really big accident.|
I was also able to soak up a good couple quarts’ worth of oil and antifreeze with an old gym towel that had been in the trunk; it’s now in a mop bucket in my basement. Let me know where you live and I’ll have it sent right back to you in a very nice sponge. I want to make this right.
1. We’re well aware, incidentally, that the Monkey of Shame is in fact an ape. But monkey is an intrinsically funny word, and ape is not (much like underpants is naturally far funnier than the more prosaic underwear). So get as technical and annoying as you want; the Monkey of Shame will remain the Monkey of Shame.
2. “Problem” being, of course, an old-fashioned word meaning “fire hydrant.”