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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