other wild canids called dogs

From: Frances Taylor <[email protected]>
Date: February 26, 2015 at 4:15:11 PM GMT-8
Subject: Probably that must have been you wandering the Facebook

Hi there

I’ve found you roaming the Facebook you won’t reject my dedication ;+)
I’m very worried about it but i am very overwhelmed with my father’s birthday, I didn’t remember texting you. Well, I don’t know how, but is it a breezy afternoon there? Anyway, recent news bulletins on what happened in NY, they are forcing me to realize that I am a bit worried. Anyway, my lodging is now being rented by someone else and I transferred to a close neighbourhood with my pets.
Will you contact me if and when you read this?
Frances Taylor

Dear Sweet Frances,

This morning when I read your text, I was wandering the Facebook again. The dunes rose up before me like a wall of anguish but I kept plodding onward, deeper in to the wasteland. Beneath every rock and bush lay the remnants of some long forgotten poke. On the winds I could hear the whispers of LOLs and OMGs of yesteryear. In wild eyes of the lizards and dung beetles I could see the reflections of recycled memes, long forgotten outrages du jour culled from the news & blogosphere, and a few subtle glimpses of raw, ethereal vitality borne on the shoulders of reposted pyramid schemes. But I trod onward in the wind and blinding sandstorms, my heart warmed with the thought of my old battered netbook nestled deep inside my leathern undergarments where it’s safe, snug, & protected from the elements and bit rot.

As you well know, it is a tumultuously breezy afternoon here. I have seen fragments of current events from New York drifting by in small caravans, making their separate ways toward the deep web and floating up to the top of the search engines like the crusty brown scum floating atop waves that may still be seen several weeks after an oil spill. I know your father’s birthday is always an ordeal what with his malfunctioning bionic leg and his temperamental pain reduction implants. You should tell him that we speak of him with reverence and utmost respect and that his name shall remain forever etched in to the walls of the cathedrals of our minds like so many random bits of overlapping graffiti on a latrine wall left after a night of rowdy drunken brawling.

Please tell me about your pets. Last I heard, your chinchilla had reproduced asexually and squirt out a litter of alarming colours from every hue of the florescent rainbow. Did your veterinarian ever pay you for the wager she lost when she didn’t believe your text messages about this small miracle? I hope you know that my associate producer friend still wants to get you on the talk show circuit should you ever find yourself fallen on hard times and unable to feed your growing and hungry family of pets and wayward strangers that invade and lease every place you’ve ever moved in to.

The baristas here at the edge of the Facebook are a lot more hardy & surly than the ones we have back home at Google Plus. They still frown or outright scowl at me when I ask for a refill of the half-and-half carafe but the small trinkets I bring them from my journeys are sufficient to pay for my WiFi and keep them happy & cooing over their newfound nest-lining materials. Sometimes I wish I had never left the midlands of Regretsy or the near arctic tundra of the Tumbler. Did you ever send my mother that postcard from Foursquare? I know that she would be proud that you are now the presiding mayor of the Pho Kim Long restaurant in Las Vegas.

Well I must be on my way. I will write you again when I’ve finished my trek across the Wikipedia. It takes longer each trip, though, because it seems to grow like that fungus we used to have on our feet as children. Do you remember those grey blotches as clearly as I do? Will you send me an e-card if and when you read this?

yours in intestinal fortitude,
Solo, the Wild Dog of Mombo