Letter From Milo: Deceptive Practices

You can’t tell it by looking at me, but I used to be a very handsome man. There was a time when I had a full head of hair, all my teeth, a trim belly and fewer scars. Not only was I, arguably, the greatest writer ever to come out of Gary, Indiana, I was also, hands down, the best looking man ever to come out of that fine metropolis.

Inevitably, time has had its cruel way with me. I’m a shell of my former handsome self. Whenever I look in a mirror I feel a terrible sense of sadness and loss. I imagine Michelangelo felt the same way when the first cracks appeared in the ceiling of the Sistine chapel.

A great writer, whose name I don’t recall, once said, “By the age of 50, every man has the face he deserves.” If that’s the case, what the fuck did I do to deserve this?

The reason I’m bringing up this subject is that I’ve recently been under a lot of pressure to get on Facebook. Big Mike, the Barn Boss of this scabby, barely legal outfit, has been especially tough on me about Facebook. After dozens of abusive emails and several threatening letters from The Third City’s attorneys, I decided to give Big Mike a call.

“Hey, Big Mike, it’s me, Milo.”

“Make it quick, asshole. I’ve got a blog to run.”

“What’s this shit about me getting on Facebook?”

“We need more readers. My investors are getting antsy. There’s a lot of Arab and Japanese money behind this blog site.”

“When you hired me you said we had, like, 15 million readers a day.”

“Well, heh, heh, I may have exaggerated a bit.”

“How many readers do we actually have?”

“Seven. But I haven’t got the numbers in from Europe and Asia yet.”

“Seven! That’s it!”

“Yeah, but we can easily double that number if you get on Facebook.”

“Ah, okay.”

Which brings me back to the beginning of this blog. You see, according to my daughter, who set up my Facebook account, I had to have a photo of myself on the site. But I was hesitant about posting a recent photo because, as I had mentioned, my present appearance is not up to my usual lofty standards.

There you have it. My daughter went through some old photo albums, found a 25-year-old photo of me, scanned it, doctored it up, and posted it on the site.

So, if any of you ladies are thinking of contacting me for a little fun and games, you might want to think twice about getting in touch. Instead of spending quality time with a young Al Pacino, you’d end up frolicking with an aging Bela Lugosi.

Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

• share:
• Recommend on Facebook
• Buzz up
• Tweet this
• Tell a friend