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(The Sunday Whirl for August 26, 2012)

To all my dearest Gentle Readers:

Mary Louise Curser used to be my best
back-fence friend. Turns out she is quite
the operator. Upon receipt of this communiqué,
my hackles rose. I searched for and found a large rock.
I grabbed an indelible eyebrow pencil,
and used it to inscribe an evil curse
on a wilted leaf of lettuce, which I then
wrapped around the rock, and hurled,
like an Olympic disk-throwing champion, that
thing through her precious bay window.

This woman, evil incarnate, sent me a
chain letter at dusk yesterday – (I suppose
it was a chain e-mail) – that asked
for a favorite recipe of mine. I hate
these things. They come with warnings. I’m told
“Shame on you if you break the chain!” “Bad luck forever
if you do not participate!” “Twelve plagues upon thee!”
Those I can take. Who really believes? Who cares?
For instance, I have broken mirrors and walked
under ladders. I have been owned by many black cats. I remain
unscathed, except for a few minor scratches,
a trace of ptomaine poisoning, or a brief
time I lacked the essentials for cooking (at a crucial time).
An empty larder is nothing, really. (At least it used to be.)
And who can say? (I can’t) –
if it happened because of a stupid curse
in a chain letter e-mail? (I won’t!)

The most dire threat of them all: I am
forced asked to forward it to
twenty of my closest friends.
How do you suppose I got my three many friends?
By never forwarding spam chain e-mail! I have
always been known for my meticulously
spam-free communications. I send
only links to my own junk work. I am
miserable at careful when making friends.
Why is this, you ask? Perhaps,
even though spam-free, my prodigious talents
are likely appreciated only by the illiterate élite few,
I want to firmly believe.

I find myself in a bind, however. I am
hosting a horde of some strangers guests
for dinner next week. I am
unable to feed them with an empty pantry. I ask
to be forgiven. By you. Especially, I beg
the seventeen others few of you to whom I forward
this demand request. I need you, and I wish
you well – really! And even though I have
never heard of you, nor you of me, (I got
your address from a list purchased by given
to me for just such an occasion as this), please, I beg
you, do not relegate this missive to your spam box. I wish
you well – really! This letter is now yours:

“Dear ________________,

In a new e-mail, you are to
type out and send your favorite recipe
to the first person on the list below, along
with a copy of this letter. Move my name to the top,
and put your name beneath mine. Only my name
and your name should show when you
send your e-mail.

Now this is crucial – a matter of your life and my
death: Send this e-mail (with your recipe) to 20 friends!!
If you do not do this within 5 days, (the clock
has already started on you), famine and pestilence
are going to dog you for the rest of your life! You will
experience an empty larder when the essentials for a
lavish feast are most needed. Even worse than this,
you will get one of these chain e-mails every
day for the rest of your life, and each one will double the
amount you are required to send in the one before.

On a lighter note – you should receive 400 recipes,
move faster than a speeding bullet (a useful skill you won’t have
if you break this chain), become more powerful than a locomotive,
bend steel in your bare hands*, and given the power to
leap tall buildings in a single (I kid
you not) bound! Best of all, you will be able, at a
moment’s notice, to completely disguise yourself as Clark Kent,
(a mild-mannered stooge for a great metropolitan newspaper), simply
by donning a pair of black horn-rimmed eyeglasses!
The wise person will not refuse to comply.
The curse is real, and inevitable.
Besides – the benefits are enormous!

Remember: you only have to do this once.”

I need you to do this.  I soon will be forced to cook
for the entire population of the western world.
My larder must remain completely stocked.

I will never. ever send you one of these f dang
things again.

Unless I get another one.

Your best friend for life (or death),
Jane

1.  Mary Louise Curser
2.  Jane Cursed

(*As part of the curse for not complying, you will also receive this gift, but like Midas and his touch of gold, you will bend steel every time you touch it.  A real inconvenience if you own a stainless steel refrigerator, stove, or dishwasher.  If you comply with the letter, this gift can be used only when you need or want to – such as on an unfaithful boyfriend’s car.)

********************

This one was long. . .and enough. . .

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