By Ariel
Dear Reader,
I write this humble plea from the confines of my home office. I have been trapped here for 2 weeks straight, held captive by Carrie, my wife of 5 years. You see I started on this novel-writing journey after New Years. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and my lovely wife and I decided to pursue our darkest desires this year. Unfortunately hers turned out to include kickboxing and my poor innocent face. Nose job aside, I’m so close to being done!
But neither of us had any idea of the cost of printing such massive amounts of creative genius. I have 20 more pages to go and no money. We’ve mortgaged the house, sold the kids, and stopped eating on odd days. And although our newly trim physiques require less calorie intake and Carrie now believes that full stomachs are for sissies (thanks to her trainer Gus) I really miss the kids and dinner consisting of more than two raw eggs (shaken not stirred). So Carrie locked me in the office until I finish.
When I was but a lad of 23 years my paternal grandparents took a trip to Maui. A corny shirt or postcard would have been appreciated, but they felt the need to bring me back two old bottles. I have never felt the love more than at that moment. I mean, you can never have enough useless junk lying around the house right?
It turns out that at my local Wal-Mart printer paper costs $6.99 plus tax. With my finely honed research skills sharpened from endless nights on Google researching remote rainforests in Southwest Cambodia, I have concluded that I can sell these bottles for $9, leaving me with $2.01 to buy the wife something nice from the nearest vending machine. She is so lucky to have a guy like me. With that 50 pack of crisp white paper I can finish this horror of a project and use the bestseller proceeds to free my children from forced labor.
Like a proper prisoner I have taken to tallying my imprisoned days on the wall via a letter opener and paperweight chisel. She is not going to be happy when she releases me from my wallpapered prison but it makes this feel legit. Like I’m a modern day Nelson Mandela. Or something.
Reader, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this but I am in fact capable of defending myself from would-be assassins bent on locking me in my own house. Or I was until Carrie really started getting into those workouts. In class they learned war tactics that may or may not have been taught to her by members of Spetsnaz. With her newfound aggression she drugged and bound me in the dead of night. Which is why I write to you in the beautiful world of Craigslist begging for a purchase.
So reader, buy the bottles because the world really needs my 5,567-page novel on the dangers of tile flooring. And I would appreciate being able to see daylight again.
