Here she goes again with the letters

Dear Four,

You’re a month away, and you’re already kicking my ass. How is it that you’re kicking my ass from the future? I miss Three. I never thought I’d say that. Please advise.



Dear you,

Just as I have successfully beaten you down, so have I kicked Three right to the curb. And yeah, I’m here early. So? Why should I explain myself? Poop to that, I say. Poop. Poop in your butt. (Good one, me!)

We all know who’s causing the problem, here. We would be getting along just fine, me from the future and you from the now, if you would only comply with my demands. If you were to provide me (for breakfast) with a twelve-pack of cinnamon Trident (slightly aged so that the cinnamon is not too cinnamon-y) and an ice-cream sandwich and a Playmobil catalog and let me watch violent cartoons while pointing to items in the catalog and shouting I WANT THAT, all while dripping ice cream on my clean pants, then we’d get along just like… pee… on a … foot. (Yes!)

Sure, I may be setting the bar fairly high, but it’s only because I know you can handle it. Just as I know you secretly love it when I fling my surprisingly dense body at your head and whup you with my light saber and then smash my lips into your eye socket. Soon you will be so smitten that you will forget that Three ever existed. You’ll be all, three? That wimpy jerk who liked to watch Miffy? Did Three ever ask you to marry him? No, Three couldn’t make the commitment. But I’m Four, baby. And I’m totally your man. Now get me that ice cream and gum, and make it snappy.

In summary, I’ll be here for a while, and I am going to poop on your head THAT DOES NOT STOP BEING FUNNY!