Letters From Smitty 1

Hello, you don’t know me but my name is Alan Gibbons. People call me “Smitty” for short. I’ve never been quite sure why they call me that. Perhaps it has something to do with my occupation as a replica blacksmith at Medieval Festivals and other carnivals. However, the origins of my nicknames shall remain a taboo topic of conversation for the purposes of this letter because I have urgent business to discuss with you, even though you are not a specific person.

My life-long friend and fellow hamster-breeder, “Smitty” has gone missing. Yes, his nickname is also “Smitty.” We would often have playful arguments over which one of our nicknames was better. Needless to say, the argument never really went anywhere and we always solved it by playing a rousing game of Red Rover.

I woke up one morning in our high-rise luxury loft apartment located in the bustling market district of Sheridan, Wyoming, only to find that my beloved roommate was missing. I should have known something was wrong when I didn’t hear his usual eruptions of night-time terror shrieks which he experiences on a not-infrequent basis. “Spiders!!” he would cry “I’m covered in God damned spiders!”; then I would lull him back to sleep by singing the old negro spiritual entitled “I’ll Stop the World and Melt with You.” If this technique would not calm Smitty down, I would light some scented candles; play some nature sounds on our full-sized, Malt Shop jukebox, then beat him unmercifully with my slipper until he was fast asleep.

Smitty was polite enough to leave a note regarding the reason for his departure. He said he had gone to the rain forest in order to find his car keys. I thought to myself “It should be easy to track Smitty down” because in my past employment, I was a tracker for the French government in Canada. Although my primary responsibilities for that job involved mostly the tracking of animals and the collection of their beautiful pelts, I had never tracked a human being before. While Smitty’s pelt is one that I would be proud to call my own, it seemed more important to bring him back to me with his skin intact…call me old-fashioned.

I can’t help but feel partly responsible for Smitty’s abrupt departure. You see we had another argument on the eve before his disappearance. This time it was regarding the classification of a Tomato. I said that a tomato is considered to be a fruit; Smitty violently disagreed with me. He said that since his birth, his mother had always said “Smitty, no matter what anyone tells you…a tomato is a mammal…don’t ever forget that.”

While I have the utmost respect for Smitty’s mother and her occupation as an amateur child pornography distributor, I do take issue with some of her views on vegetable / fruit classification. I tried to tell Smitty that a tomato lacks several of the most basic criteria to be considered a mammal. For one, it doesn’t give birth to live young, nor does it breast feed its infants. I also said that typically mammals have hair on their bodies and that tomatoes, a fruit, are generally hairless. Smitty screamed and threw his hands out, knocking over his sippy-cup and spilling Whey Protein all over our game of Stratego.

I’m almost sure that Smitty was upset over this episode and it was the reason for his vacation rather than him missing his car keys. I am writing to you in order to get a better understanding of where Smitty is. Please write me back with any information.

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