A letter from a reader named Monica:

…Oh, and by the way, I found a piece of paper in NYC subway that had a haphazard to-do list and among the notes it said,”for MM’s blog – idea – dollar store chickens”. So, in case that was meant for you, MM… message delivered.

So, what do you think the chances are that it was a reader of this site that lost the note on the subway? And, if in fact I am the “MM” who was supposed to be the recipient of the “dollar store chicken” idea, please, if you’re out there, tell me what the idea was. I know I’m probably wrong, but I’ve convinced myself that it’s something huge, something that would really put this site of mine on the map. So, stop holding out of me, and spill it. What am I supposed to do with the dollar store chickens?

update: Now that some time has passed, I’m wondering if it might be “chicken” in the “Ghost and Mr. Chicken” sense. Is it possible that by “dollar store chickens” this person meant people, like myself, who are afraid to shop in dollar stores? (I stay out not because they’re germ-filled, but because the mother of a girl that Linette used to tutor was shot and killed at one not too long ago.)

…in what fashion would you choose to end your life?

Please go into incredible detail and really impress me. (I’ve received some great email over the course of the past week from people telling me how much this site means to them and how lost they’d be without it, but, for all the talk, I don’t think that my not posting has caused even one person to stop taking his or her heart medication, let alone jump under a bus. While I guess that’s a good thing, it kind of depresses me.)

I’d like to think that if I were to walk away from this little empire of mine (like Papa in the song “Papa was a Rollin’ Stone“) that at least a few of you might get together and decide to leave the planet in some really ornately orchestrated, theatrical way. Sadly, I suspect that in reality most of you would just do it off on your own somewhere, after the passage of several years, in boring, unoriginal ways that might even appear “natural” to the unenlightened outsider. An inoperable bowel tumor, here. An infected rat bite, there.

I’m not saying that I need something like Jonestown. My ego’s not that big. But it would be nice if at least two or three of you could agree to beat each other to death in a Wal-Mart parking lot or something. That, I think, would have made the whole last four years worth it in some odd way.

On a somewhat related note, if we do ever decide to start a religion, I was thinking that the week between Paczki Day and the season premier of America’s Next Top Model, would be a great one for fasting… or for binge eating… or for reflection. (I guess we could take a vote.)

And while we’re on the subject of religious insanity, I was just wondering today, as I made my way home from work, whether or not Muslims would be offended by Mohammed impersonators, and puppets, or if it’s just cartoons and caricatures that they find riot-worthy. I was thinking that it might be time for me to pull out Bob Zmuda’s business card and see if maybe he’d be willing to advise Tony Clifton to put on a turban and start writing some material for a new one man show. (You might not realize it, but this is the best idea I have ever had.) I’d, of course, want the rights to make the documentary. Tony Clifton, on tour through the Middle East, giving his comedic interpretation of the Prophet Mohammed, I think, would have to be like a million times better than that last Albert Brooks movie, Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World.

There’s a lot of stuff I want to tell you about, like the illness that’s had me in its grasp, and the raw sewage that’s flowing through the basement, but it’s time for bed now…. I hope to come back soon though. And, don’t worry — I will never leave you.