Letter to a Commenter

Piper’s playmate, funny guy John Clark, is sharing his private letters with the world, including this letter he wrote to Piper’s Daddy. Piper adores John Clark because he’s very, very tall and he married a poet. Who does that? Read on to find out!

John W Clark's avatarThe Private Letters of John W. Clark

Dear Joe Young, the Commenter Who Keeps Asking for a Personalized Letter:

I’m only writing this to put an end to the calls, the letters, and the banners-trailing-planes, although the last one—“Write me or the pilot gets it”—was kind of clever, if alarming.

But the gifts need to stop, seriously. I don’t need Montreal Expos season tickets. I don’t have any use for a Thermos full of uranium. And the Chris Brown-gram (where Chris Brown broke into my apartment, sang a song, and punched me in the face) was really upsetting.

On second thought, this letter is a bad idea.

I can’t establish a precedent where readers can bribe, cajole, or punch me into writing them a letter, no matter how many times they tell PETA that I’m running a cat slaughterhouse in my second bedroom (the protestors are demanding to use our restroom, by the way).

So I’m going…

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Guest Blogger: Sissy

Sissy is guest blogging today!  Here she is:

During lunch yesterday, Piper made this “very ‘aportant” announcement:

“Okay, everyone. See what I’m saying? After lunch, I will be presenting a lalaloopsy play or show. If you need to go to the bathroom, there’s potty breaks. The show is called ‘My Dream’ because me, Piper, dreamed it. I always wanted a lalaloopsy dream, and now I have one! There will be some sad parts, so stick with me. It will be fad-u-lous! Make sure to come!”

Piper promised a show in the afternoon. After a quick trip to the mall and then dinner, she informed us that the title of the show had miraculously changed to “The Five Little Fairies” and that the lalaloopsies were no longer the stars of the show. A lot can change in 4 hours. But when I reminded her of the show thirty minutes later, she replied in her sassiest voice, “Sissy, after this game! We only have three pigs left!” I didn’t ask her what that meant.

I finally got a five minute play out of her, but then there was yet another distraction. A dance party with Daddy sounded so much more fun.

“What happened to the play?” I asked Piper. “I’ve been waiting all day for the show.”

“Show? What show? We need you at the Dance Party! We can’t sing Firework!” she responded.

Apparently, the show must NOT go on.