Dear Mr. Hawkeye,
I hate Atlanta, I hate Georgia and I hate this unbearable heat! Why, why on Earth didn't I listen to my parents and apply to one of those colleges they chose for me in Michigan? It's the middle of September and I can hardly sleep at night because it's so hot. I live in a shitty little apartment on the top floor of an old building (but perhaps you know that already). All the windows are wide open, but it doesn't provide any of the coolness this place desperately needs; the air is still disgustingly stale. I'm even thinking of going nude for a while – no one visits me anyway. Then again, I don't want to shock any of the neighbors whose windows face mine. Nope, not in a million years would I wish Merle Dixon to see me without clothes. Nor do I EVER wish to see him naked. God, and now I have that picture in my head! Gross! I hate my vivid imagination sometimes.
But now I guess I have to explain who Merle Dixon is. Unless you already know…
Damn it! I'm getting a little paranoid. Ever since I met Michael Coleman, that lawyer of yours, I've developed a nagging feeling of being constantly followed and watched. Kind of an uncomfortable sensation, I must say. Reminds me of a guy I used to know – Jim, the mechanic, if I recall it right. He used to rent an apartment in this building, until they put him into some mental asylum. The guy had an unhealthy obsession with conspiracy theories. No wonder his wife divorced him eventually, got full custody of their kids and a restraining order against the poor guy. Guess that was the last straw for him. Wouldn't want to end up like that!
Anyway, let's get back to the subject at hand or revenons a nos moutons, as the French say (learned this expression in class today). Merle Dixon. The most obnoxious human being I've ever met in my life. Where to start? Well, if I make a list of all his "charming" traits of character, this e-mail would be way too long. I'll just try to outline the most disturbing ones. First of all, there is his shady criminal past. And maybe not even past – wouldn't be surprised if it turns out that the man cooks meth in his spare time. Don't have any solid proof but I'm quite sure that he is a drug dealer! On top of all that he is a sexist and a racist – Neo Nazi, a proud member of The Aryan Brotherhood. Wouldn't want to bump into Merle when he is sober, but when he's high – that's when the guy gets really dangerous. Last week that douchebag beat up T-Dog just because of the color of his skin. And yesterday he set a dog on me!
Have no idea where he got that monster, but if it weren't for that chair in the foyer, I'm not sure whether I'd still have any fingers to type this e-mail to you. In case you work for WSPA, I must assure you that I didn't harm the devilish creature, just used it as a protection against the beast! I kind of like my limbs the way they are; attached to my body and not serving as dog food. And what happened with the "no pets allowed" policy that our landlord Hershel Greene established earlier this year?
By the way, it seems like Daryl (Merle's younger brother) doesn't enjoy the company of the bloodthirsty hound either. Heard them fighting over it that same evening, Daryl was shouting something about "Lassie" going home (wasn't eavesdropping, the open windows did their job) – couldn't agree more.
Anyway, the point is – I despise Merle Dixon! The bastard hates everyone, save his brother, and he truly believes that if you are a white supremacist, that fact alone admits you to heaven without any further examination. Merle and I were born to be enemies. Saw him with a hooker the other day. Hope she gives him the clap or something even nastier!
Ok, enough with Merle. Let's change the subject.
My college life is not very interesting – classes, study – all the same. Because of my part time job, I don't really have time to get involved in any social activities. But sometimes I do get out and have fun. Like today – just returned from my friend's birthday party. Miguel is a great guy – lends me cars for street racing from time to time. We split the prize money when I win. His elder brother Guillermo is the leader of a street gang, they steal cars mostly (in case you're interested, the one I was driving was clean). But they do have noble intentions. Half of their income goes for charity and I know for fact that they support one of Atlanta's nursing homes. Though Guillermo threatened to chop me up and feed my body parts to his Chihuahuas if I ever tell that to any soul alive. (Don't you see a strange pattern here? Seems like people enjoy threatening me with their pets!) So let's pretend that I never mentioned any of this to you.
Oh, that reminds me of the reason why Merle set that dog on me in the first place. And it is totally ridiculous! I think those drugs severely damaged his brain somehow... Because that was his way of warning me to stay away from his baby brother! Well, some baby he is… Hmm, where was I? Oh, yea – Daryl. I can't say I'm so much as acquainted with the guy. He never makes the slightest effort to be amiable. When I run into him in the hallway, Daryl never answers my greetings. He probably doesn't even know my name – called me "Short Round" once. Damn my ball cap and backpack!
To his credit, I must admit that, compared to that appalling elder brother of his, Daryl is a true paragon of virtue. And he is friends with T-Dog. That's the reason why the latter didn't press charges against Merle for the beatings. Though I think that T secretly dreams of locking up the racist scumbag somewhere far away and then losing the keys on purpose.
Oh! Almost forgot, Daryl has a crossbow! Isn't that an amusing coincidence? What a surprising twist it might have been. Ha-ha! Pigs would learn to fly in that case. First of all, the man isn't even aware of my existence and second – he must be anything but rich. Or else he wouldn't rent an apartment in this shithole. So, Mr. Hawkeye, you can't possibly be Daryl Dixon.
By the way, I've decided to settle for the crazy researcher theory. But please don't reveal my real name in that work of yours! I've only known one scientist in my life, Milton Mammet. He used to call his lab rats by the letters of an alphabet. Wonder if you would name me "Y" or "X." Hey, that's an idea! The X-men! I always liked Gambit most and we even share the same first letter. Maybe I should change my name? Like T-Dog did. Though that's not the best example, I should say. I mean, why on Earth would anyone want to name themselves after a beverage and a pet instead of Theodore Douglas?! Anyway, Gambit it is! Though it is a bit ironic, considering how much I suck at any card game that exists out there. Especially poker. The worst liar in the world!
Ugh, I feel a bit nauseous. Little hint – someone had too much to drink tonight. :(
Yours always, Gambit.
Dear Hawkeye Smith,
God help me with this dreadful hangover! I have a feeling that my head will explode any moment now. And reading the copy of the e-mail that I sent you last night didn't help the matter. They say that alcohol does dreadful things to your liver; well apparently, it does even worse things to your brain. I didn't get past the phrase where I expressed my wish of joining a nudist community. Awkward. No one needs that mental image. Feel free to mark all my e-mails as spam next time! As for me, I'll be damned if I have another drink in my life ever again.
Much embarrassed confirmed teetotaler, Glenn Rhee.