… And that’s why you can’t trust paperclips. What else could they be hiding but a thirst for human flesh? This has been traffic.
Now, an update on the ongoing situation at the.. One second. A blood red envelope has just been slid across my desk by some unknown force, stopping conveniently right in front of me. Let’s see what it says.
uh huh. mhm. ah. oh? hmm… i see. okay.
Listeners, it appears that in order to boost ratings for the program, station management has entered me into a “sexy man competition”. This is a normal thing for your employer to do and is in no way overstepping any boundaries. It says here that my first opponent will be a “slender man”. Well. Many men can be described as slender, so to lay claim to the title of “slender man”, this man must be extremely slender indeed. I asked Carlos what the smallest thing in the universe is the other day, and he said “hm. Probably the amount of time you spend doing the dishes.” So there you have it! This slender man must have an approximate width of ten minutes per week.
The letter does not list a time or place, only the words “don’t look… or it takes you” written in pink gel pen. There’s also a drawing of a crying anime boy next to it. Hey, that’s quite good. It’s nice to see station management making use of that How to Draw Manga book I got them for national zipper day.
Now an update on the ongoing situation at the community roller skating rink. For those just tuning in, the rink has been occupied by angry ice skaters for the past week, yelling things like “if god had meant us to roll he would have created us in the image of a bright red Ford Fiesta Mark IV with a missing taillight and the number plate SIV384” and “we love knives. bring back knives!” When asked for comment, skating rink owner Teddy Williams stated that “knives never left”, gesturing to a gaping wound in his side before being pulled once again into the crowd of vicious ice skaters, many of whom were wielding their sharp boots like weapons. I hate to speculate, but I think that wound was probably caused by the roller derby team. Some of those youngsters need to learn to look where they’re going!
Another note has been passed onto my desk. This one says “always watches, no eyes”. This time, it’s written in purple. We must have run out of pink gel pens again. Wait, it looks like there’s more on the back. “We know it’s you who’s been using up all the pink gel pens to write your romantic slam poetry. We are all sick of hearing you rhyme ‘giant fist’ with 'scientist’. Also, 'police chief Martin Brody stared into eccentric and roughened local professional shark fisherman Sam Quint’s eyes/he felt a tingling in his thighs’ does not scan. Signed…” Oh. That’s a lot of signatures. That’s… [sound of flipping through many pages] yeah. A lot of signatures. Much to think about. And while I do that thinking, let me take you now to-
[the sound of a letter being slid across wood]
Another one? Has your point not been made? Must you further ridicule my craft? I’m sorry that my purposeful subversion of the norms of the medium as a meta-commentary on the forbidden love between Quint and Martin in Jaws (1975) *didn’t scan*. I’m sorry that you wouldn’t know real art if it hit you in the- I have just been hit in the face by another letter. I think this may be a sign that I should read these.
This first one says “leave me alone”. This is exactly what I have been saying! Leave me alone! A great writer has a gentle, sensitive soul that requires solitude and peace, not unwanted criticism from certain interns (Maureen) who will remain here unnamed (Maureen Johnson). What’s the second one. Oh, this is just a page of tree drawings. Well, if we’re doing the whole “constructive criticism” thing, I think these drawings are highly unrealistic. The trees aren’t even screaming! They don’t even have thousands of unblinking, bloodshot eyes. To forget such important details is sheer laziness. Speaking of sheer laziness, another four letters just got dropped onto my desk, and I would rather be eating my lunch than reading them right now. Let’s check in on the weather.
Optional listening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjx_WhrAQQM
There is a stranger outside my window. He is tall and neatly dressed. His face is as smooth and white as the inside of a shell, if the shell you are looking inside of is both smooth and white. If it isn’t, then his face is the opposite of that shell. Actually, picture an egg. His face is like the egg of a blue-throated hummingbird. One of you is imagining a chicken egg. Stop that.
He has been waiting politely for me to finish my lunch. I have now finished my lunch, and he is now waiting far less politely. I think he wants me to read the rest of the letters. Suddenly, I do not want to read the rest of the letters. I do not want to read the rest of the letters! He is being very insistent. I am trying not to look at him. All this talk of letters has reminded me that we haven’t had “Hey there, Cecil” in a while, so why don’t we…
Okay. Okay. I am a reporter. I must report. I am opening the fifth letter. I have unsealed the envelope. I am pulling out the paper. I hold the paper in my hands. I am looking very intently at the potted geranium on the other side of my office. It has grown seven feet since last week, but still has not reached its advertised height of three miles, fifteen inches. I wonder if I have been over-watering it. I am looking at the ceiling. It is not there. It has not been there since last month, when it was destroyed by a giant flying- well, you remember. You listen every day, don’t you? I won’t insult your intelligence by providing a recap. I am looking at the photos on my desk. I am looking at my empty sandwich wrapper and my draw full of equally empty pink gel pens. I am looking anywhere but the paper.
I am looking at the man on the other side of the glass, who is now- I’ll read it. I’ll read it. Please put that down.
… Hey, this isn’t too bad. It just says “help me”, written in a shaky, unfamiliar hand, pressed so deeply into the paper that the page is ripped in places. This time it’s red! How adorable. You know, in the language of color theory, red represents warmth, energy and enthusiasm.
Let’s take a look at the rest while I’m “in the zone”. This one says “can’t run”… That’s true, I’m on the clock right now. This is not the time for recreational activities like jogging. This one is just the word “no”, written nine times around a picture of a shadowy figure with a face like a… Well. With a face that’s not like a face. Hey, hang on! I am holding up the picture to compare it to our visitor. He is standing still very nicely while I look back and forth between him and the paper. You’ve been very good today, so please see the front desk for a lollipop on your way out. I think this might be… Actually no, never mind. The drawing cannot be of him, it’s far too skinny. No person could possibly be this thin, as thin as the wall of an airplane becomes when it stands as the only barrier between you and the arms of a welcoming earth. She does not understand why you keep leaving. She will do anything to make you stay. The man in this picture is as thin as about ten minutes per week. I never did end up hearing from that guy.
The visitor has left. I suppose he went to collect his lollipop. The eighth and final letter sits here on my desk. It seems lighter than it did a minute ago - or maybe my arms have just become stronger after several minutes of opening envelopes. And they say radio isn’t a physically demanding job! I would like to see some of you gym types try to lift these. They must each weigh as much as one ounce.
Well, no use delaying the inevitable. That’s what I always say!
Oh, it’s just from station management again. They’re saying I won the first round of the “sexy man” competition. I guess “slender man” was so intimidated by my literary accomplishments and newly sculpted musculature that he gave up. “Slender man”, wherever you are, don’t lose faith in yourself. Sure, we can’t all be bad boy radio hosts with a secret heart of gold, but there is somebody out there who will love you for who you are. Maybe try to do the dishes more often though, okay?
Stay tuned next for a middle-aged man trying to figure out who Herobrine is. My best guess is some kind of pickle-themed vigilante.
Good night Night Vale. Good night.
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