An open letter to the person who stole my bookbag

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Dear sir or madam,

 

Before I begin, may I be the first to thank you for stealing my book bag? While your act of thievery was neither cunning nor daring, I must thank you nonetheless for taking my bag rather than one of the actual valuables of my fellow editors lying adjacent to it.

Speaking of my bag, it is currently safely back in my possession after I was contacted by Translink telling me they had found it on one of their buses. I do not know what possessed you to leave the bag aboard the 135 bus, but I have my theories.

I imagine you were sitting on the bus ready to pry into my bag with your pig-like hands. But lo and behold, when you found nothing shiny inside (my apologies), in a fit of rage the bag somehow escaped your sweaty trotters. Even more tragic, before you were able to retrieve it you were distracted by some new odour permeating your folds. You then stumbled off the bus in a rush, late for your appointment at the herpes clinic.

But this is just one theory; in another, you step off the bus to skulk around a preschool both hands never visible throughout, and in yet another you have to make it to the dumpster behind Safeway before they throw away the expired eggs. I have many more theories, but I doubt we will ever completely understand what happened, as modern science has only scratched the surface of the effects of syphilis on thinking patterns.

One piece of advice though, rather than leaving the bag inside a bus, next time try throwing yourself in front of one.

But what I’m still struggling to understand (not unlike how you struggle with reading) is why you pinched my bag.

The obvious answer is for money. I must apologize, then, for forgetting to leave my phone or wallet inside my bag. I can only imagine the disappointment you felt when you discovered nothing worthwhile inside it, especially after all the time you spend trying to figure out how to work a zipper.

For future reference, if you are ever again tight on money, might I suggest gainful employment at the dick-sucking factory? Perhaps your estranged mother could give you a reference.

But maybe your motive was not cash, rather the raw unadulterated thrill of getting away with a crime more of ignorance than intellect. If so, I suggest a legally encouraged method of getting your chemically induced jollies. Some sort of gruesome sex act (or in your case, a sex act) perhaps?

Rather than stealing someone’s rightful belongings, try taking a whack at your own genitals, no matter how hilariously, then sadly, then hilariously again deformed they may be. I only tell you to do this yourself because I cannot imagine that any human being or animal being paid any fathomable sum of money would delve into the matted canopy of pubic hair, crusted urine and general disgust in search of your aforementioned sex organs.

Anyways, if my analysis of the situation is completely sound and error-free, let it be recorded in the annals of The Peak that you, my friend, are a ham-fisted, illiterate, piss-soaked, baby penis, obese, pedophile, syphilitic, herpes-ridden, sack of shit garbage eater. However if any detail may be so far as even an iota off then I would greatly enjoy hearing from you.

Warmest Regards,
Gary Lim
Humour Editor