Letter to Erin 20150712

In the name of Allah, most Gracious, most Merciful.

Hi there, my beautiful Erin.  How art thou, Sweetie?  I'm sitting here writing to you my beloved, I'm watching Jerry Springer.  "It's not my baby," again.  I spent the evening clearing out the small jungle at the side of the road opposite of your house inshaAllah.  I find the best way to clear out thick scrub is a hand pruner and a lot of patience.  I wish I had a chainsaw, but since I don't, I have to clear out all the smaller branches and all the vines, so I can have a clear shot with my machete.  No it's not my property, but it's everybody's problem.  Suppose one cobra meets one elementary school kid walking home, and who are they going to blame?  Me?  It's not my property.

I'm studying the case of Michael Hutchence right now.  I just barely got started, so I don't have much of a grasp yet.  I don't think he was a particularly great guy, but it always makes me suspicious when celebrities are found naked when dead.  I do sense a certain claustrophobia.  Otherwise, there doesn't seem to be any clues at all of outside influence in his death.  Paula Yates claimed it wasn't suicide, but she died of a heroin overdose 3 years later.  It's the love intrigue that fascinates me (she was still married to Sir Bob when this video came out.  All in the name of entertainment, I suppose.  Or even humanity.  But certainly not in the name of charity.)  So I do feel bad for Sir Bob Geldof.  It's probably because I have Live Aid in my heart.  No, he doesn't have the proper type of influence to have them killed.

I promise you with Allah as my witness that I am faithful to you, and I don't slut around.  I want you to please keep chaste and patient, and pray that Allah will bring us together in marriage soon.  Yeah, go ahead and work on your career now that you're at the top.  Please try not to party, and stay home if you're not working.  Yeah, we don't have any privacy.  Oh well.  Please know that you are loved.  I love you, and I need you.