To Tile or Not to Tile – Letter 11

Steve,

I appreciate you sending some doctors my way. They were an odd bunch, but I’m happy to say that I’ve regained use of my legs!

The first one that came by, a Dr. Edward Prica, attempted to readjust my back. He tried unsuccessfully before ultimately giving up. He left saying “if you were half the man your brother is, you would’ve just punched this paralysis in the dick by now and jumped onto your own roof to howl at the moon and piss on your neighbor’s car!” He seemed high. His continual popping of “doctor pills” furthered this theory.

The next doctor that came in was the very interesting Dr. Einar Grønnfjelldal. Through his thick Norwegian accent, he kept telling me my paralysis was due to “Tiler’s Lung.” I attempted to correct him by stating that while it is very possible that during my employment in the tile industry I was at a higher risk for pneumoconiosis, I happen to know EXACTLY the cause of my paralysis: an effect of the curare toxin which was used in Gaston Clutterbuck’s poison darts that I took to the leg. When he left in disgust, I thought he tried to tell me I had “Miner’s Lung,” which made even less sense. Joanne told me that he actually said I had “whiner’s lung” and was mocking me. She then said she needed some coke to “take the edge off.”

The last doctor just went by the name of “Frank.” His treatment seemed very experimental: he kept punching me in the legs and telling me he was gonna throw me in the fire if I didn’t get up. Perhaps it was the way that this rekindled our childhood (of you throwing my beloved possessions into the crackling flame) but after 3 solid hours I was standing in no time! I threw a couple punches back, but he just laughed and said “call me when you don’t have pussies for hands, douchebag!” then left.

This Dr. Frank certainly is a medical genius: misunderstood, avant-garde, but overall very effective.

I’m happy to report that once I was able to stand on my own two feet, I ripped the rolled up dollar out of Joanne’s nose and told her that I’m not marrying some junkie shootin’ snowballs up her sniffer. She told me she liked this “manly” side of me, and I must admit that it felt good to stand up for what I believed in. She spent the next week detoxing, and now we’re back on our feet again!

Now that the wedding is only a month away, I sent along with this letter a DVD of a performance Joanne shot of the Gazebo Players of Medfield, MA. They’re performing a wedding scene from As You Like It. This will be very similar to our wedding.

This is what you can expect. I’ve also arranged to pay you back for your saving my life, helping me walk, and forgiving me by including 5 plane tickets to Ashford, Oregon! One for you plus guest, one for Steve Junior, and two for Mom and Dad. Everyone can stay at Joanne’s and my place for the two weeks prior to the wedding. We can all get to hang out a bit more, and learn the intricate Shakespearean format that our wedding will be in.

I can’t wait to see everyone again. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to Steve Jr. I’m sorry to hear about his daisy-inspired tile-work. Perhaps while you’re here, we can utilize my new-found manliness and take him out hunting, or to a kung-fu marathon. Maybe that’ll make him start exploding with new, manly tile-art ideas.

Looking forward to seeing you soon!

With brotherly love,

– Mack

P.S. Don’t forget to bring “Two Businessmen High-Five While Bruce Lee Flying Kicks Out of the Explosion”!

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