First, regarding last month’s mirror-smashing mailbox debacle: The owner of said mailbox never responded to the letter I wrote to him/her … presumably because he/she figured that the less contact he/she had with that letter’s obviously unstable author, the better. And we can’t blame him/her for that, now, can we? No, we can not.
Thankfully, it appears that the mailbox’s owner instead chose to exert the relatively minimal amount of effort needed to knock out the relatively minor dent in his/her relatively sturdy mailbox … that sturdiness being relative, of course, to the sturdiness of my car’s passenger-side mirror … which, as you may recall, exploded upon impact with said mailbox.
In an effort to minimize the financial damage created by the mirror-smashing mailbox debacle, and because my always-do-it-yourself-to-save-a-buck father’s voice still lives in my head, I ordered online the replacement parts needed to return the mirror assembly to its original state of glory … which was a great idea right up until the part where I don’t actually have the tools, experience and technical know-how to replace a 2014 Ford Fusion heated mirror and mirror assembly, and therefore managed during my attempted installation to crack the shit out of the incredibly flimsy replacement mirror, the strength and thickness of which I discovered is roughly on par with that of an underdeveloped eggshell, only thinner and weaker.
And so I have once again proven that, by doing myself that for which I should have just paid a professional in the first place, I can get the more expensive, less rewarding experience of first fucking up the repair myself, and then paying a professional to do it the right way. So, you know … nice going, me!
At any rate, my beautiful car is beautiful once again, and I will be doing my damnedest to avoid getting run off of the road from here on out, so if you could all please help by putting your fucking phones down while you’re driving — especially those of you in the suburban-Philadelphia area — that’d be really swell, m’kay?
Second, regarding my open letter to KISS’s Gene Simmons, whom I hypothesized had either accidentally blocked me from following his Twitter account or is an overly sensitive dick: I’ve not heard from Gene, and I still am blocked from viewing and following his Twitter account, so let’s just assume that he’s an overly sensitive dick. Either that, or he’s completely unaware that I wrote him a letter. (Actually, let’s assume both of those things.)
Third & lastly, regarding my rapidly advancing age: I shall now share with you something I posted on my personal Facebook page yesterday:
Yes, that really happened. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go clean my dentures before my shuttle to the Senior Center arrives.