Dear Mr. Pundit,
May I call you Rude? Thanks.
I confess when I received your email yesterday requesting that I log a guest-post one day next week on your inimitable blog along with some of the high-powered local writers around these parts, I quite naturally assumed it was a prank being played on me. And I also had a pretty good idea who could and would “punk” me in such a fashion.
For that reason, I was quite happy to readily call your bluff and agree to your terms, soiled tighty-whities notwithstanding. Imagine my consternation this afternoon to discover that you – the really real you – have announced to the world at large just such a gathering of guest bloggers lined up to cover your ass – I mean, your absence next week.
I confess that I am floored to learn that you read me. Do you read me? I can’t imagine why you would.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud to believe that you might. But I never pictured us – you and I – as being in the same class.
Nevertheless, by golly, I intend to serve you well, sir. I’ll be watching the local news, reading the local rags, and, by hook or by crook, I’ll find something appalling to write about even if I have to make it up!
You can count on me.
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