My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

I saved letters from friends over the years, placing the envelopes in old cereal boxes as a method of separating authors. Mr. Bleacher’s have been stuffed into a bulging “Limited Edition” Bedrock Blizzard Fruity Pebbles box. Yes, for a short time you could buy Fruity Pebbles that were “FRRROSTED”. Why it is legal to put frosting on sugar and sell it to children for breakfast, I can’t understand. But it’s a free country, as Mr. Bleacher’s lack of jail-time testifies.
If the letter was returned to the right envelope, this was 1998. Mr. Bleacher was living in a tree in the Santa Cruz mountains.

“Rolston! My God! You saved me. In the days preceding your letter I have had almost everything I own stolen from me. I am left with juggling pins, guitar, notebook and pride. I am on a starvation fast until my possessions are returned in goodwill by the misled saints who stole them. I may die but I am prepared for that. I also refuse to speak until the moral fiber of the planet is strengthened so it’s good I can write to you. Truly I had lost hope and welcomed the rest a slow death would bring me. I lay in my bay tree (my home) with the tree mice and 56 species of spiders, some poisonous, and some banana slugs that sleep in my hair. I sat there wasting away realizing as well that at my arraignment for my camping ticket I came off like Perry Mason on speed or Matlock on acid, torn shirt and all waving my arms and accusing the judge of heresy.”

You’re asking me to throw this letter away, Mr. Bleacher? I think not. You go on to talk about carrying a placard saying
“Fast until death –
I need my sleeping bag”

You lament the loss of your toenail clippers, also stolen from your tree. Let’s sample another missive. At this point you are living in the trailer at Rusty Sunshine’s…I’ve scanned your actual letter so you can’t deny the content.

This is the letter about your affair with a blow up doll. Actually, about two different dolls. The first left you because you were abusive.

“She deflated again. I locked her in the bathroom so she couldn’t leave again but when she started to cry I let her out. She ran away and I saw her get picked up on Canyada Road by some painter the Bitch! I was so mad I went out an bought a new doll called “Cherry” because she has an artificial hymen that makes it feel like you are busting her cherry every time….it comes with a tape and it sounds like she’s getting screwed over and over…I don’t go to work or clean the horse shit. I just lay in bed with Cherry. Russ said he’d call the police and I said I didn’t care as long as Cherry could come too.”

These are just the first two letters I opened. How about some news from Al? This was from another chatty letter.

“Nov 4th – Al went fishing yesterday in La Honda. He fell in a river and spent the day drying out his stash. Then he faded away to the north wearing my shoes and Brad’s clothes. I also got a letter from the sheriff/coroner of Santa Cruz and expected my ex-girlfriend had been murdered in prison.”

There are at least a hundred more letters in this box. Any one of these would incite the Muslim countries to unite and declare Jihad on our country. I should burn them. But I won’t. One day I will publish them all.