First Voice Message: Today, Friday, the 3rd, 4:27 a.m.

— The sounds of Manhattan circa 3 a.m., most noticeably an earnestly diegetic purring. —

Hey, man, I know it’s been awhile. — Palpable, nay, precocious, slurring — I’m calling to offer my well wishes, since I heard that you just got engaged to your slam-pig. Is she still pissed at me? Why can’t people take a compliment? All I did was tell her her best personality trait was the M.O.A.B.’s she’s stacking. She clearly didn’t get the metaphor. That shit is top-of-the-line, it’s not like I called them a pair of rusted old Daisy Cutters. My fault, I guess, for talking all classy and using technical terms way over her head.

— Sigh — Look, that’s not the reason I called. Well, you see I’m doing this program. Now I have to call up everyone I know and apologize for all the stuff I probably shouldn’t have done to them. Luckily, I was only a jerk to you a few times. Be happy you don’t have to hear some of the shit I have to unload on other people.

I guess I should start with some of the rumors I propagated. In third grade when whole the class got together to stone you? Yeah, I had told them you thought briefs were better then boxers and even cooler than Pogs. Remember when everyone called you raisin crabs, even though they didn’t get the joke? Cleary a cereal reference, how fucking far of a leap is it from “two scoops in every box” to a rampant pubic infestation? How about those dirty looks you got after I told everyone your favorite word was ‘modality’? As for the one I started about you being a Phillies fan … only now do I realize just how fucked up that was. That feeling of guilt will live on inside me forever.

You gotta admit that most of the pranks were worth it for the giggles, right? When I tricked you into thinking that Duane Reade was a national chain and that George Washington was a secret Mexican? Telling you that drinking Tide would let you breathe underwater and hear colors? I mean that story has gotten me laid at least twice. How about all the zany shit I’d drop in bowl before your hit: stamps, tic tacs, coke … you really should thank me for the last one, I mean, that’s basically crack, but all for free and shit.

I bet this next one will be a huge surprise. I was the ‘De La Vega of Belvedere Castle.’ I painted that mural, you know, the giant one with you and Lyndon LaRouche. Is that joke dated now? I still can’t believe how much NY1 skimped on their coverage. The chiaroscuro! The contraposto! The Jungian undertones! No one truly appreciated how many hours, sketches and Whippits went into— Words obscured by the soft whirr of a street cleaner’s bristles on the lonely cold heartless concrete sidewalk —

But now that I think about it you’ve done some pretty fucked up shit to me, yourself. The Packard Model Congress in 8th grade? I was macking on that Spence girl and you just had to blow up my spot with your shitty bill. Tell me, when has mandatory adoption of the Metric system ever gotten a plaid skirt lifted? I had a chance of taking her to the 86th street City Cinemas, the one with fold-up arm rests. That’s a mid-pubescent erotic encounter I’ll never have!

Have I really wasted five minutes and 23 seconds squeezing my heart into your voicemail box? I really can’t believe it took me this long to remember how fucking shitty and worthless you are as both a human being and a frie— Oh yo, Bro, I’ll call you back — my coke guy is calling, so yeah sorry, talk soon!