Old Mates – Letter 2

Dear Lou,

I have to say that I was excited to get your letter! It has been 19 years and 20 days since we last spoke―the last day of our freshman year of high school. I remember the last words we said to each other. You shouted “Skinny Vinny, this is all your fault!” And I tried to get the words “I’m sorry” out through my sobbing, but you had already walked out the school doors and out of my life.

I must say your life is very interesting. All those various jobs and hobbies and marriages. Sounds like you achieved your goal: to wander without a goal.

You’re right, as usual, in that I don’t have much going on. After getting my Bachelor’s and Master’s of Finance from Penn State, I took a job at Kellogg’s corporate headquarters in Battle Creek and moved to the town of Hastings, MI about 25 miles north with my wife and 2 children. I now run my own consulting firm that partners with Fortune 100 companies to manage high-level strategic initiatives.

BORING, RIGHT?

I can’t say that I haven’t often thought of the good old days when I would stay up all night meticulously crafting oragami birds to paste onto your campaign posters while you got your beauty rest. “A true politician needs time to DREAM OF THE FUTURE” you’d say as you put the sleep mask over your eyes. In the world we live in now with all its expectation of immediate solutions, I think about how right you were. Those fat cats in Washington should be getting in a solid 13 hours of sleep a night, “The Lou Special,” to dream up a better direction for this country!

I couldn’t think of a better man to run for Mayor of Fort Scott. Gosh, I miss our hometown. I haven’t been in 8 years, when I took my wife to the Lon Ury museum on West 15th. But she has declined any offer to go back, citing it as “too depressing.”

I am honored and graciously accept your offer to be your Campaign Manager! I’ll tell my wife and kids at dinner tonight. You’re gonna be the next Goldie Wilson, Lou (like in Back to the Future! Our movie!).

– Vincent “Skinny Vinny” McCarthy III

Old Mates – Letter 1

Dear Vincent,

Hey! It’s sure been a while, huh? By my count, I’d say it’s about 18 to 20 years since we last spoke. Boy, have I missed you, Skinny Vinny. You remember why they called you that, right? It was on account of your calves being about as thick as pool cues! Man, we just laughed and laughed at that nickname. Those sure were the days.

Anyway – uh – what’s new?!

ACTUALLY WAIT LET ME GO FIRST! After high school I eventually finished my degree in Business Administration at Brookdale Community College (home of the Fightin’ Unpaid Interns!), then moved back to Kansas, where I’ve worked for about 7-8 different sales organizations. I’ve been married 3 times (I’m still technically married to the third one), and in my free time – and believe me, there’s plenty of that these days – I like to cook, do Mixed Martial Arts, and follow politics. I happen to be in-between jobs at the moment.

Which leads me to why I’m writing to you today.

I’d like to formally offer you the position of Campaign Manager as I run for Mayor of Fort Scott!

You remember back in high school, when you ran my campaign for freshman class President? Boy, did we ever give the eventual winner a run for their money! You did such a wonderful job with my last campaign, I knew you were the only man I could trust with something so important. We’re 20 years older with 20 years more experience, so we’ll definitely win this time. I know all sorts of political terms now, too. We’ll gerrymander these poots right in the voter-fraud!

And don’t even try to tell me no. I know what “self-employed” really means. You’ve got plenty of time for an ol’ high school chum.

You and me, Skinny Vinny. Fort Scott has seen some dark times as of late, but together we can make a GREAT (fort) SCOTT! (Remember? Back to the Future?!)

-Lou

The Providers – Letter 1

Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill,

Dude, dude, DUDE.

I’M SO DRUNK. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

HONESTY-TIME, HONESTY-TIME, man. I’m from the future. No no no no no, wait… seriously. YOU STUPID SHIT, LISTEN TO ME! This writing back to the past is serious business. Me and Greg – Greg from the future who don’t know yet – have been drinking a serious amount of Cuervo at his parents peacock farm. It is some f’d up s, man. They have this weird idea that peacock-dancing is the entertainment wave of the future – well, after SURGE BALL, of course.

Then me and Greg had this idea. CHECK IT OUT! We tell someone in the future to start the peacock-dancing trend, so by the time we come around it’s mega-popular and Greg’s parents (and us, of course) can reap the benefits – and by benefits I mean a dick-load of CASH MONEY.

So here’s what you basically need to do: If you’ve got 2 peacocks, bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. If you’ve got just one peacock, get another one, then bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. If you are 100% sans-peacock, acquire two peacocks, bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. IT’S THAT SIMPLE.

In return, we’ll give you tiny hints about the future so you can maybe possibly benefit from them.

Dude, this is going to be SO SICK. I LOVE YOU DUDE, I FUCKING LOVE YOU, MAAAAAAAAAAAN!

Eat my balls,
Dom

The Providers – Letter 2

B-Fuckin-Ill,

If you’ve got 2 peacocks, bring ‘em out round the yard and teach ‘em how to dance!

Do you even know what that means? Probably not because you’re too busy BEING LAME.

Man, we are from THE FUTURE. We are here to totally HARASS YOU via the Postal Service!

That’s right. It’s super-antiquated in our era. People only really use it to splice through time itself and send people junk mail and bullshit pranks. Where do you think all those stupid letters come from that promise you credit cards, discounted insurance, and larger penises? The effin’ future, that’s where.

Do we have a bigger purpose, you ask your STUPID self?!?!?! I will answer you with a whispered “perhaps.”

Dude, it’s like this: I just dropped some mad flim on some honey chilies.

You stupid past assholes don’t even understand how AWESOME that is. That means I just bought myself some great socks. In the future, we call socks “chilies.” Why? Because we are so much better than you and can do whatever we want!

MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So, you got a letter from Dom. That is not my name. My name is Greg. Both of us want you to shut the hell up, break up with anyone you’re currently going out with, and focus all of your time on us.

Oh, and bran. Buy a whole truck-fuckin’ lot of bran. Eat that shit. Love that shit. And write letters to your government about the importance of bran and bran research & development.

I will leave you with some lovely words from the greatest non-presidential vocalist of your generation: Mr. John Travolta

Look at the rain and look at the stars tonight
All fallin´ down on me
See them tumble through my door
I look at your face
The light is in your eyes
And there´s something there I need
I long to hold a little more

FUCK YOU,

– Greg

The Providers – Letter 3

Bill,

If all else fails remember these words:

“Girl I can’t understand it, why you want to hurt me
After all of the things I’ve done for you
I buy you champagne, roses and put diamonds on your fingers
But still you hang out all night, what am I to do?

My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, party all the time
My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, she parties all the time

Girl I seen you at clubs, just hangin out and dancing
You give your number to every man you see
You never come home at night because your out romancin
I wish you’d bring some of your love home to me

My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, party all the time
My girl wants to party all the time,
party all the time, she parties all the time”

Bill, we know that you have had some issues with your girlfriend recently, we know it seems like she wants to party all the time. Just remember that the 59th President of the United States, Mr. Eddie Murphy, can commiserate. It happens to all of us.

Now stop moping around, you have to stay focused if you’re going to help us prevent this tragedy. Greg and I have been diligently working to prepare every upcoming occurence so as to prevent any tears in the space-time continuum, and that’s not easy for two dudes who have worked in the Bran Factory for half their lives. GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS, STAY SHARP, KID!

More info to follow, make sure to check your mailbox and floss daily.

-Dom

The Providers – Letter 4

Bill,

Now that we got the awkward part out of the way (gosh, that was weird…but NECESSARY), we can get down to business!

Here’s a list of items that we need:

– 3 popcorn flavored lollipops
– 17 cases of Fuji apples, flash-frozen to preserve the 100 year journey to our time
– A 2010 Chone Figgins baseball card

Here’s a list of the preliminary tasks we need you to do:

– Read up on canaries and bran
– Get yourself into shape, specifically your upper body and your “digging muscles”
– Buy a puppy and take loving care of it throughout its life

The last one isn’t for us, but it’s just a good idea. Puppies are wonderful. Better than dolphins (fuck dolphins, man).

You’re probably very confused, and that’s ok. We’ll explain more to you when we’re able to.

For now, all you need to know is this: the first three letters were weird, yes; uncomfortable, yes; but necessary? Very much yes. We need to reverse a POWERFUL event that has taken place, and you need to do it for us.

So, this is the first time we are being nice and “normal” to you. But, again, our first three letters HAD to be sent. If you sift through our insults and odd requests, you’ll find some valuable information in them.

For now, you get to those lists I just left you! If you’re good, we’ll explain some stuff next letter.

– Greg

The Providers – Letter 5

Bill,

Now that you’ve taken care of the preliminary tasks we asked of you (thanks for sending that 2010 Chone Figgins baseball card, he’s going to have a monster year, trust me), I figured I could let you in on a little bit of information  about the future. Not enough to alter the space-time continuum so much that the United States gets attacked by a murderous race of giant sea turtles (again), but enough to make you totally jealous.

To start off, no, there are no flying cars. At least not anymore. A slight lack of foresight by AeroFord resulted in most of the flying cars obliterating each other mid-air. No lanes – people make their own lanes. The cars that didn’t become murder boxes were impounded or sent to museums. We’re all back to driving regular cars, powered by canaries.

I know you’re probably wondering about time-travel. Well, to sum up time-travel in one sentence: NOBODY TIME-TRAVELS. It’s really boring and totally not worth the risk. In case I hadn’t made in clear in my first paragraph, the future is great. Like, way better than the past. Why would we want to go back and look at boring losers like you (no offense) while we have 3-D virtual reality back in our own time? Even if we were interested in observing what you had for lunch last Tuesday, the possibility of completely ruining everything in the future is surprisingly high. Even the littlest thing – like someone from the future waving hello to you – could potentially have cataclysmic effects. If you wish to learn more about this, there was a documentary released during your time called The Butterfly Effect starring the man who now has a 30-foot tall bronze statue standing on the Hollywood walk-of-fame, Mr. Ashton Kutcher.

Also, dolphins can talk now. At first it was really cute, but now they’re just annoying – always whining about how much the want another fish. Fuck dolphins.

Thanks for your help, the next letter will inform you as to the next step in the process.

-Dom