Most people would go into a long, rambling discussion of dinner, and what everyone was like, what we talked about, what made me take my pants off at the table, why Britt was under the table for so long, how the conversation turned to a discussion of which animal was the worst to have sex with, and why RW’s new nickname is The Swinger, but I’m not most people.
What I will talk about, however, is the fact that this morning, Britt and I both woke up naked in a bathtub filled with ice. Our sides ached, and there was a neatly written note stapled to my forehead. It read:
Dearest Sir Avitable and Madame Britt,
It was my pleasure to make your delightful acquaintance last night at dinner. I was pleasantly surprised to find that both of you were friendly, wonderful people. I must confess, however, that my tales of traveling nationwide selling pens on chains to banks was a situation in which I was not entirely forthright. I do, in fact, sell kidneys on the black market. For that reason, my dear companions, I create hundreds of blogs that I populate with witty insight and canny observations so that I can ensnare unsuspecting denizens of the blogosphere into meeting with me. And then after relieving them of one of these unnecessary organs, I disappear into the night, never to be seen again. And for that reason, my fellow online contributors, you should pick yourselves up and proceed posthaste to the nearest medical facility to ensure your continued long life and happiness.
Respectfully yours, RW
Oh, and he left us this picture: