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To: Mail Editor
Dear Mail Editor: You may recall your regrettable strike last month caused us much pain. We had to delay our trip to Marseilles where we had a long-standing appointment with a very busy acupuncturist. Not good. Now our joints are stiffer than a St. Joseph temari's… well, let's not go there. The point is, we ain't happy campers. We can't remember exactly why you went on strike, but we did send some guy who said he was a new editor to your office with an olive branch we had FedEx-ed in from Greece. (Nice touch, no?) Problem is, the guy came back out with his face fm meslo, and with no olive branch. And he was walking funny. What did you do to him? Don't bore us with the details. Anyhoo, we are on a flight to Addis to check up on the expansion of the Ritz-Carlton Poppo Laré If you don't have The Mail ready this month, we will have to take some drastic measures-- like make you fly coach on your next assignment. (Do you know what happens to people who fly coach? Let's just say people who fly coach are not happy people. They have no friends.) Gotta scoot. Say hello to the staff. We might have failed to mention we will not make it to the next editorial meeting. Please inform our ij astaTabbi that we noticed she was not holding our Egyptian cotton towels the proper way. Ach! Don't they teach them anything at Sandford? Ahh… here comes the stewardess with the wine menu. We hope they have purged that feeble Montrachet from their list. It is sinful. Oh, we found the janTilas that new editor wanted us to give to CherQos. Will do. But, what's with the bright colors on them? Clay red next to ecru? Hg yelem wei? (Is that new editor from public school?) Anyway, we think CherQos might prefer our compact, expandable, mahogany handled, double reinforced London Fog 'brella. No? So we've taken things into our own hands. Love and kisses.
To: Upp'yer Management
Dear Ine'MinamintE: The Mail just ain't happenin' this month so get over yourselves. First, I'm tired of your constant whining… "our acupressurist's fingers hurt us"… "the fETo and areetee in our noses aren't organic and toxin-free after all"… "our expensive hand-hewn pumice stones are too harsh on our be-brtukan CHmaQi yadege Qoda"… "waaaa waaaaaa waaaaa" … Dang, but you're all just a pile of steaming crybaby pooh… And then there's the Mail this month, which has …like…quadrupled. And WHO do you think has time to slog through all the stuff? Me? On this pay? I don't think so. The mail comes in three major categories, so here are my three responses, which'll just have to do 'till I get a raise. To those who wrote, "You guys are great." Well, thanks. I guess we can't argue with that. To those who wrote, "You guys suck"…well, sometimes, can't argue with that, neither. But we're oh…so…grateful you took the time out to yank our chains. Where DO you live, again? I know some Jehovah's Witnesses with a bit of time on their hands. And then come the major irrorro marathoners…(I imagine they speak in a high-pitched nasal whine): "EnglizNaw TeTerebin"… "The AmariNa is too hard"… "The spelling is too hard!" Wiy! Wiy! Wiy!...why, I wish I had some of my grandma's good home-grown, free-range samma…indew, hulishini'm a'and bet aguro muliCHCHCH adrgo megref neber. Get a dictionary…get a Mezgebe-Qalat…and, ferchrissakes, get a clue. So here's a tip from the Mail Editor this month...pay 'tension, cuz I ain't gonna repeat myself. You want stories about life in Addis? Well, yenE hod, yenE shenkora, yenE welela, get your penna out and write about it! Any miskeen exiles out there in Europe, Oz, Windhoek, elsewhere? Feeling kinda left out? Stop getting' your je ne sais quoi's in a twist and start putting irssas to were'et!! You molQaQa private school kids want us to stop making fun of you? Well……sorry! TayeN!! I'd be…like…depressed if we couldn't do that at least once a day. Be grateful we ain't got time to have a daily e-mag. Finally, if you're feelin' all "Ayyyyy!! SeledaYe'n leQeQ!" on our behalf, and you'd like to express your gratitude at what this gudeNa medrek brings to your life on a monthly basis, totally and utterly free of charge, well, yene-werQ, yene-tlQ sew, just send cash in small, unmarked bills to: I'll be sure to have a pint in your name, with a shot on the side for good measure. Bellu hiduliN.
To: Mail Editor
Did you know that the Ritz Carlton Poppo Laré has a full time Qess on staff? It's rather remarkable. Say you sinned in the lobby (didn't tip well, megelameTed the taxi driver… what have you…) Well, you go to your suite and dial extension G-E-M-O-R-R-A, and up comes Abba Mntesinot to custom tailor a prayer for you! Wow. Is that service or is that service? Don't you think we should have that at SELEDA? I mean, with all the "aTintihn salsebr… qoi inE ye sewyew lij" that happens around there, wouldn't it be cool to have someone on call to medgem a l'il something that might make the Almighty happy? We are truly inspired… Now, what is this about a raise? Times are tight, Mail Editor. We barely have enough money to rent out the Dolly Parton Suite here at the Laré. Besides, you know how… Sorry. Had to pause. The General Manager, Monsieur Victor D'Arragon des Compere du Michelin sans Lebatosee (he wants us to call him Vic), dropped by to invite us to a private affair. Hard to say no to him. He knows Ross Perot. Back to the Mail… we want you to know, people like the Mail. Or so we hear. And if we don't have the Mail, some kind of mutiny might happen, and, really, we are not properly dressed for the occasion. In any case, since we don't have time to chitchat about this further, (let alone read your insane letter… has anyone told you that you are verbose?) we will let it pass… just for this ONE time. If you do not have the Mail next month, however, we will so drop you and get some other wezader-wannabe to memo'neCHaCHr the Mail. Stop acting like a ayat yasadegut molQaQa, and shape up. We have bigger problems at SELEDA… like squashing that "merEt larashu" type abiyot the writers are trying to initiate. Oh, please. Don't tell us "what revolution"? We know our Tengara zinbs from the ones who wear contact lenses. The point is… what was the point? It'll come to us. Oh, yeah. Have the Mail ready next month! All three months worth!!! You are a spoiled, igzayr yet'teTalaw ingrate of a person with the manners of a ye-kotebE kosso shatCH… Oppsii. Gotta go. It's Yeneta Gebermesqel at the door. He's pinch hitting for Abba Mntesinot, who is working full time with some nitwit expatriates from California in the Tom Cruise Suite. They give those of us in the Diaspora such a bad name! Love and kisses. |
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