I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I meant “eight” when I typed “ate” because there’s gremlins in the keyboard again. They time-traveled to the present from World War II to take contract jobs from Mark Zuckerberg or Vladimir Putin or Marilyn Manson, all to make me type so rottenly. “Alt-right” when I meant “alright,” “mayfly” when I meant “maybe,” “go to hell” when I meant “sorry.” Autocorrect, you see. Gremlins in the autocorrect.
And when I sent you that dick pic, it was gremlins in the keyboard again. And when I ghosted you for seven years after our fourth date, again, gremlins. The swastika in that meme I messaged you was photoshopped in by gremlins. You can’t trust those malevolent creatures. They’ll post those nudes you sent me online. They’ll plop death threats into your DMs.
Listen, listen, that post you read about Catholics being universal pedophiles, a gremlin. I know you’re Catholic, I know you shoveled a grand of money towards my college tuition. Come on, you know me, how I’ll say in person I see beauty in all faiths. The gremlins, they feel differently. Give them your betrayed eyes, not me. Listen, I love eating meals at the local Egyptian bistro, so why would I write that we need to deport every non-white in the country?
I’m a reasonable person, you know this. When you told me about your passion for hunting, didn’t I nod? Say I was concerned about these assault rifle sales, not the handguns, the shotguns? So that image macro I posted that every gun owner should pull a Cobain and spare the rest of us the trouble, you agree that was gremlins, right? And ah, I see you’ve caught a case of them too. That Facebook post about hippie gun-haters being traded to ISIS for POWs, I know that wasn’t you. You’d never post that.
And I understand the confusion where I demanded the last president be treated with respect when I claim now the current head of state is not my president. Which statement, if any, was contrived by gremlins? The answer, of course, is both were. You know me. You know I don’t post about politics.
The over-abundance of gremlins in the world tears us reasonable people apart. We need to curb their numbers, and it begs the question, how did their population grow so unchecked? Who’s holding back production for anti-gremlin spray? Soros? The Kochs? Netanyahu? Bill Gates? Sorry, sorry, gremlins again. You know I don’t play the blame game.
We need to discern more, methinks. Remember that October back in 1962? America received two memos from the Kremlin regarding an end to the Cuban Missile Crisis. The second was more hard-line than the first, and written with less raw Khrushchev emotion. And so America accepted on good faith the first proposal while ignoring the second. We need more of that. True, true, all too frequently no reasonable telegrams come, all of them spiteful, but we need merely believe in the unsent telegram, the silent sentiment of agreeableness so obviously held down by gremlins.
And the gremlins, pah, what do they have to tell us? We can learn nothing from them. They betray no secrets. They show no portion of our soul. Why must we keep talking about them at all, really? Must we? Must we talk about it? Please. Please don’t make me talk about it. Please.