A Touch of Freakiness

Though most of you refuse to allow the inner freak to emerge in your writing, my freak has to come through every now and then just to keep things interesting. I dare any of you to try to top this in terms of raw unadulterated freakiosity:

Dear Francis:

Your persistent attempts to browbeat and intimidate me are doomed to fail. I have met the likes of your kind before, and your sombrero and handlebar mustache do not impress me. It’s a look that may have suited Pancho Villa well, but it’s a bit dated now…just like the old kidney you carry all the time in your suede side pouch.

What is that kidney for, I wonder? Are you keeping it just in case you need a spare one, or are you planning to dress it up for Halloween and take it along with you when you go trick-or-treating? Carting around a used kidney may be a cute trick, but I seriously doubt that it will get you any more tasty treats from the old ladies who live on your block. Try wearing a smart costume for a change!

I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU OR YOUR DAMNED KIDNEY!!! Perhaps if you had a liver or appendix in your bag, I would be moderately impressed. But in my humble estimation, the kidney is a piss-poor excuse for an organ. (What does the kidney do anyway? Nobody seems able to tell me.)

But I digress. Your insufferable harassment must cease forthwith. I have already contacted my lawyer, Mr. Cyrus Mandlebaum, Esq, and he assures me that your attempts to force me to join your newly established barbershop quartet are not only illegal but quite rude as well. When you asked me to join your Mariachi band last year, I agreed, but the line must be drawn somewhere…and having to sing tenor with a group of morbidly obese evangelicals is as good a place as any to make my stand.

Answer this one question, if you will: what part of me are you planning to snip off to get my voice high enough to meet the requirements of your vile quartet? I WILL NOT HAVE VITAL BODILY PARTS REMOVED WITHOUT ADEQUATE COMPENSATION! I have already lost a pinkie, two feet of large intestine, and a quarter of my spleen to satisfy your pathological desires, but there are some pieces of me that, quite frankly, I hope to make use of at a later date. By the way, I still miss my pinkie and haven’t been able to hold cocktails properly since you started wearing it on your key chain.

Perhaps I am being a tad obstreperous (Is this a real word?). If I must sing with you, make sure that you provide me with a nice bowler hat and a crush velvet shirt to wear beneath my favorite orange sport’s coat. And please don’t tell my mother about this. She still talks about the time you made me wear the ballerina costume in your all male version of the Nutcracker. She is a sickly woman and has yet to get over the death of her pet parakeet, Manuel. She loved that bird more than life itself and they were planning to get married just as soon as he saved enough money for his sex change operation.

Oh, why does life have to be so damnably complicated!!!????!!! I just got a fake rubber pinkie and now you expect me to loose another piece of my anatomy. It seems so unfair. Just be sure to send the replacement parts at your soonest possible convenience by certified mail. This time I will settle for nothing less than antique brass, so do refrain from your usual penny-pinching. Certain appendages simply do not look acceptable in latex or stainless steal.

I look forward to seeing you next week at the annual corporate golf outing!

Sincerely,

Mr. Ricky Ricabono

P.S., When we meet next week, don’t forget to bring the nail clippers you stole from me in Fresno. I haven’t been able to trim my toenails for two years now and it’s embarrassing when I wear my favorite pair of Birkenstocks at the opera.