Dear Inna
From: “Merlin”
Date: March 6. 2007. 8:58:23 PM PDT
To: womanforlove2006@yandex.ru
Subject: YOUR LETTER!!!
How you doing?
My name is Merlin, I am not nearly as old as you are and I think you sent me an email letter by mistake. I am a pretty cynical person who doesn’t like to do much of anything, especially sport and camping, I do go to the cinema but it usually pisses me off, especially since so many people seem to think it’s okay to call their friends on their cell phone in the middle of, say, Pans Labyrinth, and tell them that they’re going to be done with the movie soon and what up? Or Moms who bring their three year olds to The Departed and sit right down front with Big Sippers and gummi bears and think it’s okay.
I don’t work in a shop.
But, look, I got your letter and felt pretty crappy when it got to the part where this nimrod Aaron dumped you and told you he had a wife and kids, and I’m just hoping that you didn’t send him any naked pictures because besides being just gross it’s no doubt what he wanted from the getgo, not a relationship with some Russian chick from Cheboksary. Which I had to look up in Wikipedia, not the best source for information but it’s where we are, now, culturally, and I learned that you’re in the home of Russia’s only beer museum. Do you live hear the hydro-electric plant? Any trouble with that (e.g. static electricity, hair standing on end, stunted growth, ringing in your ears)?
The thing is, Inna, you can’t just spam out a letter to America and hope to meet somebody. I mean, the guys who write back are probably not the kind of guys you’re going to want to hook up with, and if they are you can probably meet the same guys in Cheboksary, or Novocheboksarsk for that matter, guys with hair growing out of their ears and fat handles and Beevis and Butthead tattoos who work in cubicles and go online to play World Of Warcraft and choose hard body warrior avatars with names like Elrod and get to the bazillionth level and then, I don’t know. Just explode in a gooey mess of flesh and diet Pepsi.
You gotta get out. Walk down by the Volga. Go to the beer museum. Get some fresh air. Buy a sweatshirt at the Gap. No, on second thought, stay out of the Gap. You don’t need children. You need a life. In Cheboksary. You come here, you’re gonna live with Daryl in Pittsfield and he’s gonna have a beer museum in the basement and you will never, ever be happy because English is too hard to learn, with lots of exceptions none of us who grow up here can even remember, look at who we put in the White House.
And whatever you do, don’t send more photos.
Have a great day,
Merlin.
Date: March 6. 2007. 8:58:23 PM PDT
To: womanforlove2006@yandex.ru
Subject: YOUR LETTER!!!
How you doing?
My name is Merlin, I am not nearly as old as you are and I think you sent me an email letter by mistake. I am a pretty cynical person who doesn’t like to do much of anything, especially sport and camping, I do go to the cinema but it usually pisses me off, especially since so many people seem to think it’s okay to call their friends on their cell phone in the middle of, say, Pans Labyrinth, and tell them that they’re going to be done with the movie soon and what up? Or Moms who bring their three year olds to The Departed and sit right down front with Big Sippers and gummi bears and think it’s okay.
I don’t work in a shop.
But, look, I got your letter and felt pretty crappy when it got to the part where this nimrod Aaron dumped you and told you he had a wife and kids, and I’m just hoping that you didn’t send him any naked pictures because besides being just gross it’s no doubt what he wanted from the getgo, not a relationship with some Russian chick from Cheboksary. Which I had to look up in Wikipedia, not the best source for information but it’s where we are, now, culturally, and I learned that you’re in the home of Russia’s only beer museum. Do you live hear the hydro-electric plant? Any trouble with that (e.g. static electricity, hair standing on end, stunted growth, ringing in your ears)?
The thing is, Inna, you can’t just spam out a letter to America and hope to meet somebody. I mean, the guys who write back are probably not the kind of guys you’re going to want to hook up with, and if they are you can probably meet the same guys in Cheboksary, or Novocheboksarsk for that matter, guys with hair growing out of their ears and fat handles and Beevis and Butthead tattoos who work in cubicles and go online to play World Of Warcraft and choose hard body warrior avatars with names like Elrod and get to the bazillionth level and then, I don’t know. Just explode in a gooey mess of flesh and diet Pepsi.
You gotta get out. Walk down by the Volga. Go to the beer museum. Get some fresh air. Buy a sweatshirt at the Gap. No, on second thought, stay out of the Gap. You don’t need children. You need a life. In Cheboksary. You come here, you’re gonna live with Daryl in Pittsfield and he’s gonna have a beer museum in the basement and you will never, ever be happy because English is too hard to learn, with lots of exceptions none of us who grow up here can even remember, look at who we put in the White House.
And whatever you do, don’t send more photos.
Have a great day,
Merlin.
posted by Merlin Sulchek at
9:27 PM
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