An American Girl in Iraq channels Kyle after his prolonged absence from the blogosphere:

October 21, 2008

Dear Diary (Chad),
Today wasn’t a very good day for me.  My best friend in the whole world flew back to the Middle East, and I was stuck here in Wichita, wishing I could be there with her.  She’s so great: she’s funny, she’s thoughtful, she likes pizza, and she smells good.  What more could I ask for in a friend?  And now the mean government has taken her away with the lure of international intrigue and enough money to buy lattes at Starbucks without the morning-after guilt.  Who can blame her?  But I sure do miss her.  Frankly, I’m a less interesting person without her influence, and while she is gone, I become like vanilla bean—interesting enough to serve with pecan pie, but not enough oomph to stand on its own sugar cone. 

I think I will go to bed early tonight and cry myself to sleep.  After I masturbate of course.

Love,
Kyle

October 25, 2008

Dear Chad,
Well, Ulysses sucks, but I pretend it’s brilliant so those who don’t understand me can feel inferior.  It’s a trick I learned from B*, who likes to have full bookshelves to intimidate those who claim they “read,” but only read magazines.  It’s fun to look our noses down at people.  I can’t wait until we are both rich and can afford plastic surgery to literally elevate our noses (remind me later to write about people who misuse the word “literally.” They are literally dumbasses). 

I don’t have much time to write b/c I’m in the middle of the Tall Grass Film Festival.  So exciting.  I love looking down at people for their movie choices as well (really?  Lord of the Rings is your favorite movie?  Which one?  Oh, all three?  You can’t do that, sister–the question was movie, singular, and don’t give me any more of your nerd bullshit that Paul Jackson intended to make them feel as one, like Tolkien, and no, I don’t care that I got his name wrong.  Go make out with a trombone player, dweeb).  I’m hobnobbing with celebrities and seeing movies that no one else has seen or will probably ever see.  Let’s be honest, Chad, independent movies are like the French tutor everyone claims to have slept with.  Seeing them looks good on our resume, but at the end of the day, we all want to watch reruns of Will and Grace/sleep with our ex who has a nipple ring and a penchant for taking 10’s out of our wallets.

I haven’t heard from B*, but that’s probably good, because she would be so faced to find out the celebrities I’m now bessies with.  I can’t tell her, so I know she will assume I’m making it all up.  But if she only knew that Gwyneth and Clive are as cool as their movies say, and that I’ve now become convinced to name my first child Apple too.  And Clive is great source material for my masturbatory fantasies.  Yes, Clive, I would like to get Closer with you and have Children with your Manhood.

Love,
Kyle

October 28, 2008

Dear Chad,
B* is finally in Tikrit.  I am so happy for her because her emails were really bumming me out.  I don’t know why she was so negative; what I wouldn’t give to lie around in a bed all day, and then take a shower in a place where I can catch glimpses of same-sex nudity.  Sounds like a vacation I would pay for.  If she can’t handle Kuwait, I shudder to think of how she handles Europe with me.  Is it too late to insist my saner bessie K* come along? 

But even bigger news!!!  I got a job!!!  I mean, other than the few I already hold.  I got another job!!!  Aren’t you so proud of me, Chad?  I wasn’t even looking for a job, but hobnobbing with celebrities won’t just get you a dime-bag of weed and all the permanent markers you can carry.  The best part about getting this job is I get to be super secretive about it.  And I came up with that part all on my own!!  I like to pretend I’m James Bond (Sean Connery) when I masturbate, and I’m having sex with my hotter version of James Bond (Daniel Craig), so this job was the perfect opportunity to live out my fantasy.  Well, without all the spooge.  Anyways, I let B* know about it via a really short, withholding email, and I bet she’s just dying to know what I do.  But I’m not going to make it easy on her.  I mean, she will be so jealous when she finds out I get to be the next Mr. Peanut!  Isn’t that amazing, Chad?  I’m going to be a famous performer.  And the perks are out of this world.  Well, I do have to provide my own top hat, cane, and monocle, but they get me the tights, shoes and peanut suit.  And I hear it’s really slimming, which is good, because I’ve been so off my diet lately.  I’m now up to eating two lean cuisines a day, instead of my usual pack of cigarettes, tic tacs, and black half-caf coffee. 

Back to me being famous.  I can’t wait until all my friends learn about my new job when I go to Six Flags and pass out free sample sizes of peanuts for the new promotion.  I’ll unmask myself just as they are all betting who can sleep with Mr. Peanut first, and then I’ll give them extra packs of the parsley flavored peanuts, because I can.

Oh Chad, I don’t know how I will ever go to bed with all this excitement in my life.  I guess I’ll just have to whack off again.

Love,
Kyle

October 31, 2008

Dear Chad,
BOOO!!!  Ha ha, got you.  I love Halloween.  It’s the only time of year I agree with wearing make up, and it’s a great reason to make my nurse’s costume extra skimpy so all the boys will look at me.  Can we say hot pants?  Just kidding, Chad.  I was already a nurse last year, silly, so of course this year I’m going to be something different.  J*, my most awesomest roomie ever, and I are going as Donnie Darko and Frank the Bunny.  I get to be Donnie Darko.  I think my acting tonight will be good practice for when I’m the face of Planter’s Peanuts.  Maybe I’ll try method acting after I have a few too many dirty martinis.  What I really hope is that I meet my Reese tonight, but in the form of her ex husband Ryan.  He can candy my apple any day.

My silly (read: stupid) friend B* emailed me to remind me to wish our friend S* a happy birthday.  Like I would ever forget.  She underestimates me all the time and I just get sick of it.  She also pestered me for some dates, which, as we all know, I’m far too busy to be getting.  She’s kinda a user.  Just ask our friend D* who has had to take care of her drunken ass too many times to count.  That’s it.  Moratorium on!!!  The best part is she won’t even know it and just wonder why communication has gone from trickley to dry.  No, wait, the bestest best part is when I tell L* that we are doing the moratorium bit again, and he can use it against her too.  He LOVES that bit, and maybe it will distract him from trying to get us on The Amazing Race.  I mean, I love games and money and all that, but sleeping on a cot?  No thank you.  I had my fill of bad lodging when I was an Earth Protector. 

Remember when I was an Earth Protector, Chad?  I used to carry around a portable ashtray and everything.  It allowed me to do one of my favorite things, judge people!  Hmmm, B* likes to judge people too.  It’s what bonded us together.  That and bits.  Maybe I should call her and tell her about how I used to judge litterers and how we are revamping the moratorium bit.   No! Wait!  I’m doing the bit to her, so I can’t break and talk to her about it.  Nope, she’ll just have to fester in her pestering juices and wonder why I can’t take 15 minutes to shoot her a quick email to let her know how I’m doing.  And I don’t care that no one in her life has taken the time to email her, except M.G.*.  Damn him, trying to one-up me!!  Well, that’s the last time I ever give him a half blow job again.  I had to masturbate after that night just to relieve the tension of closeted gay action.

Mmmmm, closeted gay action…

Love,
Kyle

November 4, 2008

Dear Chad,
Sorry I haven’t written in a few days, but man, what a weekend.  I went on a Halloween bender like none other.  I think I started hallucinating bunnies because one followed me home.  I was warned that ever clear and high life don’t mix, but did I listen?  Nope.  Well, it’s inspired me to quit drinking until this Friday.  I think it’s the mature thing to do.

No word from B*.  Maybe she did get the moratorium bit, and is using it on me. Hmmm, I’ll have to ponder that further after my 2 o’clock masturbation sesh.  She did post a super long blog entry on our friend’s blog, so maybe she’s got carpel tunnel.  She did it to herself.  She just doesn’t know when to quit talking/writing/typing/ranting.  It’s like she has diarrhea from every orifice.  Speaking of which, I haven’t pooped since Saturday, the day I shat my pants for the second time in a Cracker Barrel.  At least this time I wasn’t working and I could get J* to buy me some sweats from the gift shop to wear back to the table.  I sure as hell wasn’t leaving those eggs in a basket and turkey sausage for him to pick at.  Daddy wanted his hangover food, and daddy got it.  And the best part is I had the shits the rest of the day, so I didn’t even have to throw it up after.  I am going to be the size of a 90210 girl (2.0) by December if it kills me.  Then I’ll eat a sandwich.

Well, I’m off to vote.  I love voting.  I thought about writing in Hilary’s name to show my love, but since I found out Amy Poehler won’t be doing Hilary impersonations now that she had a baby, I’ve lost some interest.  But I do like those booths.  They remind me of something…what is it?  Hmmm…oh, that’s right Chad.  They are just like the booths at my favorite porno shop with glory holes, where you can either suck a stranger off or have them watch you masturbate. 

Speaking of which…

Love,
Kyle