At the end of the day at the Internet Garage, we cash out and put the money in an envelope in a secret place. But for a while, we haven’t had any envelopes, requiring us to fashion them out of paper and staples. A few moments ago, I grabbed a sheet off the top of the recycling pile upon which the following words were laid in Helvetica:
My Baby’s Daddy
Mark! Don’t leave me! Please, don’t leave me! You can’t.
What? What do you mean we were never together? We had sex Tuesday at 2:46 pm exactly eight months ago and Mark…and…and…
And Mark, I’m eight months pregnant. that’s right Mark. You and I are about to be parents, parents of a tiny baby. So, I’m going to need you Mark because I can’t raise a tiny baby alone.
You can’t leave me, Mark, I’m Darlene remember?
Mark, you’re so cute and forgetful.
You’re going to make a great father.
… I hope this is some kind of artistic expression and not real.