The Worst Disease Ever – Letter 11

Dr. Chiribada,

Things are really great here in Tijuana. The weather is consistently beachy and the locals are extremely accepting of out-of-towners as long as you’re willing to spend money. My wife and Penelope are getting used to our new lavish lifestyle as well as their sharing of me.

OH SHIT! I absolutely forgot to tell you what happened. You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been a hectic two weeks as you can probably tell. Let me explain:

After your last letter’s pep-talk, I decided that it was do-or-be-a-bird-dude for me, so that very day I got myself a bus ticket and high-tailed it to the Smithsonian. I left my wife a note explaining the whole situation and told her that if she really loved me she would support my robbing the Smithsonian and seeing Penelope. She admitted that after reading the note she burned all my belongings in a huge bonfire on the front lawn. However, everything has worked out just as I had suspected.

So I sauntered into the Smithsonian during regular hours and located the Fonz’s jacket among some classic television memorabilia. There was one chumpish looking security guard standing in the corner who I was pretty sure I could take if necessary. So I grabbed the jacket, set off the alarm, threw it on and WHAM!

Haha, you like that dramatic pause, huh?

I turned into a full-blown birdman. Think Big Bird if he joined a non-violent biker gang. I was as astonished as I’m sure you are right now. After giving myself time to think about it, I suppose I was born to be a birdman. If you can believe it, flying is pretty fucking cool.

Everyone in the museum reacted how most people who just saw someone steal a priceless piece of Americana and turn into a birdman react – the screamed their heads off and ran away. As a newly turned winged-beast/felon, I of course grabbed some more exhibits like Archie Bunker’s recliner, “Jeannie’s” super-sexy costume, and Lassie’s taxidermed body, among other things. I flew all the way home, grabbed my wife and Penelope and headed South.

Oddly enough, there’s an enormous demand for American TV set pieces in the Mexican black market. I made myself a hefty amount of dinero and bought myself a small villa on the hill.

Dr. Chiribada, thank you. Thank you so much. If it weren’t for your suggestion, I’d just be some loser slowly turning into a bird while cheating on his wife. And now… now I’m a super-rich bird-man with two chicks. TWO CHICKS, MAN!

Good luck with all of your future anthropomorphizational endeavors.

Respectfully,
Steve Chirpinsberg

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