especially and particularly when they’re not your own and you can hand them back to the real parents when they shit their pants or try to wipe snot on you.
cos that’s what they do. it’s like it’s their profession or something.
speaking of shitting one’s pants, i have an event on thursday (read all about it here on friday) and i’m literally crapping myself, so i’ve been hand-crafting a carefully worded letter to the big man upstairs all week. you don’t want to say the wrong thing and piss him off.
so far i’ve got:
dearest Big Guy upstairs,
please let everything go well, and let it not be a fuck up. thank you.
oer… can you say ‘fuck up’ to the man upstairs, or is he like the SABC and you have to bleep it out? i’m not sure.
anyway my letter definitely needs work. i’m a writer, i should be able to do better than that. i’ll get right on it.
in the meantime check these out, they’re letters to upstairs, from kids who live downstairs. kinda cute. if they’re legit. bet the big man liked these and that’s why the weather is so nice today.
do you think these are for real? i really hope so.
ironically if they were for real it would restore my faith in kids.
you see, i can learn something from jonathan, who no doubt picks his nose and then eats it – going in with a compliment is a clever way to start a letter to the big guy upstairs. everyone likes a compliment, even the guy who invented the compliment.
in twenty years time what’s the bet Raphael’s letter to upstairs will read;
please let me finally lose my virginity sometime soon. preferably before i turn forty.
uh chris, he is the guy in the bible.
good thinking jane, now go get a cookie.
ginny’s got a point.
we need something good in june.
elliott’s a brown-nosing little suck up with two t’s!