Dear Editor Rob,
As you know, my usual editor, Christy, is on vacation. She probably didn’t tell you before she left but she asked me to turn in my grocery list this week instead of a column. She said it’d give readers a better idea of who I am as a person or something. Thanks! Fritz
My Shopping List
frozen mac & cheese, but not the gross kind
sixer of Dry Dock Apricot Blonde
tutu – pink
Imodium – “chili strength”
laundry detergent with the flavor crystals that you are NOT allowed to eat
Editor: I don’t believe for a second Christy said this was okay. Cut it out.
Fritz: Fine. If you’re going to be a hard-on about this I can switch to the other thing she said would be fun, which was to talk about whatever my latest dream was.
My Dream from Tuesday Night
So basically, I was in this really big, twisty house, filled with beautiful, but raggedy furniture. And there was a dude there I’ve never seen before – he was like this mix of an elf, a cowboy and a karate dude, and also he was in a band with his brother.
Editor: Nobody wants to hear about your dream, Fritz, unless they were in it.
Fritz: Well if you’d’ve let me finish, I would’ve told you that YOU were the elf/cowboy/karate man in a band.
Editor: That’s a lie. And nobody wants to hear about anybody’s dreams.
Fritz: Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream like 50 years ago and people STILL want to hear about it.
Editor: Your dream isn’t going to encourage an entire nation to put an end to racism.
Fritz: No, but it might encourage folks to put an end to trapeze work, because the elf-karate-cowboy was on a trapeze at one point. You won’t know what happens TO YOU because I refuse to tell one more word. Now Christy also suggested I just write up random thoughts I had throughout the week. I’ve taken careful notes on this napkin here …
Random Thoughts This Week
There was a guy carrying two huge wooden skis around town. Who is skiing already? The skis turned out to be large sticks. I didn’t have my glasses on.
I saw a dog today.
Men should get pedicures. It’s nice, and their feet wouldn’t look like old, hairy pork chops.
Editor: Please stop. You’re killing me.
Fritz: Christy also said I could submit sticky note art …
Editor: You’re out of space, Fritz. Shut it down.