Dear You
by Dan Gee
Dear Whoever
Gerald, a man
with little in his life apart from his pet Meer-Cat,
rarely knew what he wanted to do with his day.
Being very, very rich, thanks to an incident with
a run away wheel of fortune wheel, his life had
become very mundane, and as a result he felt lost.
Nevertheless he soldiered on and each day he
vowed that he would do something amazing,
something great, something brilliant; like
finding a recipe for Vindaloo that doesn’t
make your house stink like the sewage system has
failed in Mumbai, or perhaps a self cleaning Wok;
a necessity in today’s society.
However, the
day was Tuesday, and such a day, i.e. the day
after Monday, normally calls for an alcoholic
beverage or two…or three…or four…and
so on. So, sticking to tradition, Gerald grabbed
a glass from his lovely Ikea mini-bar, which was
laced in decorations of a, Las Vegas, meets
Croydon variety, and began to pour his favourite
beverage; Lambrini. But, in doing so he realised
something, something that made him feel slightly
sick, slightly empty. Yes he was more drunk that
a cricket fan on the fourth day of a test match,
but, the pang of oblivion that stuck his belly
within rang round his ears, and brain and the
finally, when he had stopped swaying, his body
fell. Cracking his skull upon the floor of his
own house, he, sadly, died.
Having a
funeral for such a forgotten fellow is an easy
affair: you show up, you eat at his family’s
expense and then you bugger off home to your nice
little house with your nice little life. Forget
about the fact that his Mum, Son or whoever had
to clear up the faeces (both literally and
figuratively speaking) left behind, you can go
home and get some exercise. That is what I did,
and my cock has been sore all morning.
Yours
Sincerely
Gerald’s
Brother
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