By now I’m sure you all have noticed the large amounts of snow in the valley. It is because of this snow that I write this letter. I am about to embark on a dangerous journey. Much like watching 12 hours of infomercials, the voyage may kill me. I have asked a camera crew to follow me in hopes of taking over Bear Grylls job to become the next star of Woman vs. Wild.
Here is the reasoning for my departure: Upon waking this morning to a winter crapland (there is no wonder in 2 feet of snow for me), I was informed that Costco was selling tall, blond, strapping lads for $19.95 each. And if I act in the next 60 minutes, they’ll throw in a guy with an athletic body (a $60 value) completely FREE! Because I am lacking in the dating department, I cannot pass up the opportunity to purchase a potential hubby. I have spent the last 30 minutes collecting my snow attire. Unfortunately, all I could find was my one-piece snow suit made of real aardvark fur complete with hood and matching gloves. I forgot how much of a fashion statement this suit is. Soon everyone will be wearing one of them.
You should not fret for my safety, for I have taken the necessary precautions to survive such a demanding adventure by packing the following items:
- One bag of marshmallows to mark my trail and help me get back home.
- A big green shovel to dig my way through the snow, and fight off snow beasts and crazy old people who block my way.
- My sassy red stilettos to woo the man of my picking.
- My Smooth Jazz CD to knock out the guy of my choice for easier transportation.
If you do not hear from me in the next 48 hours, please send a search party in the form of a St. Bernard with a small barrel of brandy around his neck to find me. Chances are I have already perished from Jack Frost's hatred and anger. Instead of finding me buried under thick layers of snow, you can expect to see me perfectly preserved in a clear block of ice beside a woolly mammoth and Scrat. Because I will technically be alive, I will still be able to move the area surrounding my eyes. For communication purposes, I will blink once for ‘yes’, twice for ‘no’ and will wink at those boys who I find especially good looking.
Too bad this communication will probably not come in handy. It is more likely that a struggling dog sled team will stumble upon my frozen corpse first. The poor musher, after wiping the frozen goobers from his scruffy mustache, will instantly recognize my furry body as belonging to the one and only Abominable Snowman. Being frozen I will only be able to blink, and Mr. Musher will have no idea of the grave mistake that he is making. He will immediately contact CNN and Mythbusters to prove that the Urban legend of "The A.S." can be Confirmed. Adam and Jamie will conduct miscellaneous tests on me to determine that I am a cross-breed of human, ape, and aardvark. For the fear of the aggression and super-human-monster strength that I am sure to possess, I will be kept frozen for many decades.
During these numerous years, guilt of turning me into a Museum artifact will haunt and torture Mr. Musher. He will have flashbacks of my hurt-filled sapphire eyes blinking at him. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. The horror! The horror! of this blinking! In a moment of insanity, Mr. Musher will grab a green shovel and rush to my rescue. After thirty years as a frozen mythical creature, my freedom will be returned to me. I will remove my furry costume, and finally believe in love at first sight. Kenny G's "Forever in Love" will echo across the horizon as we ride into the sunset behind his dog sled team......assuming you do not come to my aid before he does. No matter how this trek turns out, I do expect to return with a man. Wish me luck. Oh, and, please let Scrat know if you find his acorn.
Hug hug, kiss kiss, big hug, big kiss, little kiss,
-Miss Priss
P.S. Mike, I'm keeping my promise. You can have my laptop and old cassettes.
No comments:
Post a Comment