Postcard from Isle of Utopia

Dearest Smartass,

It is jolly fun here, what not with the sun, the sea and the beach. In the verge of being labeled a lunatic after a volley of questions, it is a holistic escape. Indeed, memories of me screaming blue murder in the cafeteria and running after you with a bundle of newspaper to inflict pain on your tender shell are long gone. No longer think of you with a sudden jab of me being put behind the slammer. Good news, is it not?

Well, after seeing my first wish instantaneously fulfilled (hey, the joy of realizing my body shrinking instead of articles of clothing is so comforting, just like eating heavenly Belgium chocolates), I’m ever so eager to witness the arrival of thousands of ships. Laden with exquisitely fine featured, erotically masculine and adventurous men, I look at the dilapidated ports and hope I see a glimpse of the sail which hails perhaps the best of the best.

Then again, reality never ceases to bite and to my horror, I found that my assumption -whatever imagined with an idle mind would never be realized – became true. If I only thought of the possibility that you had never learnt your lesson – that you were capable of jeopardizing my idealistic Utopia – I would have wished that you should not be granted your last two wishes.

Oh, woe, sorrow and suffering all clumped-up in one. Why do you torture me so even when we are an ocean apart. If I could take a jet and fly to where you are, I don’t think the coroner could even identify you as a human being that was. Man, you are so murderous! How can you make them ALL gay? How are we to live happily on an island of seclusion when we can’t multiply? The worst – they AIN’T even interested in multiplying.

If once I was happy, I have no words to describe my condition now. I can’t even scream for I have been doing nothing but that since the last of the thousand parked itself in the harbour.

With knowledge (my third wish came true yesterday) I have hypnotized the homosexuals to stop their activity for at least a fortnight. Our project – to put in shape- a jet, a scimitar and a homogenizer to grind you to your last cells. Only when I am able to fractionize your damned peroxisomes would I be satisfied.

Decided not to send you an email- the hypnotizing worked so well, one of the ‘feminine’ ones produced a postcard with a scenery similar to my domain here.

Hope to see you soon.

With tender and loving thoughts,

BoNdI