First, thanks for talking to me this week in the O Dome. I really appreciate your giving up your time to speak to me. You’re the best.
Second—GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!! Man, you are good. I tried to make a couple of frozen waffles this morning, and all I could see in my head was that dancing green swimsuit. It took me four tries to get the waffle into the toaster. First, I was short; then I was long; then I just bricked it right off the back. I’m starving over here because you have ruined my usually high-percentage ability to make myself breakfast.
How do you do it? You talk so softly, yet it cuts right through the noise of the game and lands right in my brain. Upon starting my car, I heard you.
“I know you can see me.”
“Is that really how you turn a key, little boy?”
“Is that the best you got? You know you’re gonna blow it.”
You were right. I had to a call a cab.
Finally, I am dictating this letter to you because my fingers are too nervous to type. Your antlers have scared them into total paralysis. Who’d have thought such a silly hat could strike such fear? I’m numb, just plain numb.
Look, I can’t eat. I can’t drive. I can’t write. Let me join the legions of non-Gator-players out there and just say it: Mercy. You win.