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7/8/03 Front Page Features Advice From Strangers Ain't That America? Riding Shotgun With Adventure Musing With Mitch Moth's Diary Archives Swagge Shoppe Who's at Fault? Contact Us! |
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Aye, mateys! Get you some Daily Probe booty! 
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An Open Letter to Gloria A guest Probeatorial by Jimmy Boone Hello Gloria. It's me, Jimmy. I know It's been a while, so I wanted to give you this -- an open letter, a sort of valentine, if you will. I miss you, Gloria. We always had such good times together. It's a shame things had to end the way they did. I remember everything, you know. I remember the night we met. The Leafs had lost. There we were in the bar, me crying tears of defeat into my beer, you spewing streams of tequila onto the bartender. 
I remember how I took you home that night. It took some doing, what with you
drifting in and out of consciousness like that, but I finally found your
house. I brought you upstairs and cleaned you up. God, you looked even more
beautiful without the buffalo wing sauce on your face. I laid you down on
your bed to rest, and you opened those beautiful brown and slightly
bloodshot eyes and looked right at me.
I fell in love with you on the spot. We made love for the first time that night. Do you remember, Gloria? I'll remember every detail of that until the day I die. The way you moved under me. And over me. And beside me. And around me. And in front of me. And especially behind me. The way you seductively whispered in my ear, "Get off my hair, stupid," and the way you kept toyingly calling me "Steve." I apologize that I could not remain by your side longer the next morning, but the breakfast crowd at IHOP is a harsh mistress. I rushed to your house again that evening though, if only to bask in your radiance for a moment longer. You weren't there, though, and I began the most spiritually fulfilling quest of my young life -- to find you. Fortunately, it was a short quest. You were at the same bar, no doubt reminiscing over the magical events of the previous evening. You're so funny, Gloria. That's one of the things I love so much about you. The way you pretended not to remember my name, pretending to ask the bartender to throw me out. Unfortunately, your sense of humour is, I sense, part of what led to our undoing. Sure, I laughed the first few times you pretended to be making love to those other men, on the futon that we so lovingly shared, but after a dozen or so times the novelty does tend to wear thin. That's why I moved back home. I sensed that you needed a little space. Am I not sensitive enough for you, Gloria?? You're so demanding, Gloria, and it's starting to piss me off. For starters, I happen to know for a fact that I am not the only man that has ever masturbated while crouching outside your bedroom window at night. And about that thing that came yesterday, that restraining order. Restraining order? That's just like you, Gloria, restraining ORDER! What about a restraining REQUEST? Huh? Ever heard of a little word called PLEASE? Ah, but I can't stay mad at you, Gloria. I just love you too much. That's what I was trying to tell you today, but I couldn't get the words out. Sure, part of it was the pepper spray forcing my vocal passages closed and choking the life out of me, but it was mostly my broken heart. I miss you, Gloria, and I miss those wonderful 18 days we had together. Love Always, Jimmy |
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