Dear Muddy,

Cheer up, Muddy, remember that life is short. Life is often brutal and depressing, have fun while you’re able. Smile, laugh, giggle, even guffaw when you can. Muddy, you and I both know that there were times when you had fun, I’ve even seen you attempt to roller-skate. Granted, that was during the Carter Administration, but still, the joie de vivre was in your blood then and can’t truly be snuffed out, once ignited. I’d give my Aunt Jodie’s wooden left leg to see you jitterbugging all over the rink again, with a pillow tied to your fanny.

Muddy, what’s wrong with walking in the rain? The term ‘acid rain’ is mostly poetic anyway, nobody I know curled up and died from letting some drops fall on their tongue. Do you think you’re made from sugar? I used to think so, but now I’m not so sure . . . care to prove to me you are?

Don’t work so hard, Muddy, the work will always be there. Like what people say about making the bed, it just gets messed up again anyway. Remember that work is for money, and that money is for fun, so in the end work is just a means to an end.

Muddy, why do you reject the amusement park? Don’t you realize those wonderful places are the earthly temples of Eris? They are a veritable diorama of our entire planet, metaphorically showing us what the world can be, if we want it to be. Yes, the rides sometimes derail, and yes, nasty people sometimes abduct kiddies, but you can’t focus on the bad, or that’s all you will see. Think about the fun-house, and the corn dogs, the popcorn, the roller-coaster, and the Fat Lady, my lord, don’t ever forget the Fat Lady. When she cries, Muddy, she cries for you . . . but when she sings, she sings for the world.

Why don’t you sing, Muddy? Are you afraid your pipes have rusted up over the years? Well, I’m a plumber, Muddy, and I can help rattle those pipes if you will only allow yourself to loosen the foundations. When I sing I can feel it all the way down to my disco-dancing toes, and it seems to bring an electric charge to every atom in this prison I call my body, you don’t think you could use that kind of boost? While I’m on the topic, why don’t you dance Muddy? I’ve even seen dogs and cats tango together under a grapefruit moon, do you think you’re better than them?

Why don’t you join us, Muddy, we love you. We want you to look back at the end and say that you lived every day to it’s fullest. Will you really care when you are on your way out whether you were always calm, cool and collected, or will you just care that you lived? Muddy, remember what my friend Sally once said: “What good is sitting all alone in your room? Come hear the music play . . . life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret.”

your loving chum,

One Response to “Dear Muddy,”

  1. Oscypek Says:

    That Muddy needs to get his shit together.

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