Letter

Just to let you know, so you guys don’t get confused. This post is about if I could mail myself a letter, after I died, to my past self. So… with that outta’ the way

Let the befuddlement begin! 

 Dear me,

Hey, it’s me or I guess you. Yeah, it’s kind of confusing. Well it gets a little weirder. I’m or you are dead right now in the future.

Yeah… this isn’t a joke. Or a prank. Yeah you die in the future. Not like that’s a surprise, I mean, your mortal and everything…

Yes, totally know what you’re thinking right now. “Wha-? How? How did I die?”

            … This is kind of awkward. 

We died rather… well… it was… really … anticlimactic. Um… I… or rather you in four years, seven months, sixteen days, fifty-three minutes, forty-one seconds will die.

… Don’t rush me about how we died! It’s … so… embarrassing.

Well I guess I can’t beat around the bush forever… Ok. This is how we died.

One that fine, yet horrid day, we (Or I guess I… I mean I was the one who experienced it… this is so confusing.) I when down to Wal-Mart to buy some Advil, I had a splitting headache, and I marched up and got that Advil and unbeknownst to me somebody had ripped a hole in there ice bag and the ice had fallen out and melted on the floor.

Now back to me, I was rushing to the check out isle.

In those few fateful steps to the check out counter… I slipped… on the ice… and well… I fell a backwards and hit the back of my head.

And died.

 Right there, in Wal-Mart, I died because I spilt my head open by slipping on some stupid melted ice!! Give’s a splitting headache a new meaning.

Yeah slipped, died and was floating above my body as people freaked out and screamed for doctors and called 911, that whole nine years.

The only nice thing was that our parents sued Wal-Mart, won and are now millionaires.

When to the pearly gates way to fast, Oh! No, no We didn’t make it to the pearly gates its just the expression. No, it was that accident in sixth grade that kept us out. You know with all the casualties… but it’s not too bad down here, I mean it’s a prison, and it’s a bit stuffy and hot here down in the eternal barbecue,  But is not to bad, you get Cable down here. 

Oh, and I’m guessing your wondering how I’m getting this letter to you. Let’s just say I pulled a few strings and had some friends in high up places.

So with that huge, ugly story, here comes my advice.

Either you can work for a charity for a couple years or donate more than a thousand dollars to make up for the six grade fiasco or…

You can start robbing and breakin’ the law… that thing in six grade, man that really was a big no no in heaven.  They talked about it for weeks up in the clouds.

Oh and DON’T GO TWO WAL-MART IN FOUR YEARS, SEVEN MONTHS AND SIXTEEN DAYS!! And were some ice cleats or soccer cleats (Less likely to scratch up flooring.) for the rest of you life. And maybe we’ll avoid this mess all together.

                                                                                                                        Sincerely You