Dear Doily: We Have Your Son
We have your son. We demand $250,000 in unmarked bills by the end of the day tomorrow. If you choose not to pay, we will… uh… We’ll get back to you on that. It was Mike’s job to come up with some creative torture ideas, but apparently he can’t be bothered to do his job. It’ll probably have something to do with tying your kid to some railroad tracks or feeding him to alligators or whatever. It’ll be pretty bad, though.
We patiently await your decision.
You Have 24 Hours
Dear You Have 24 Hours,
Oh God. Oh God. Please, please don’t hurt my boy. Don’t lay a finger on my precious child! I’ll do anything you ask. I know I shouldn’t have left him in an unlocked car for an hour while I harassed the cashier at Walgreens, but have some compassion!
I can’t afford $250,000. Just because I drive a Lexus and live in a $500,000 McMansion in Cedar Rapids doesn’t mean I’ve got money just lying around! It’s tied up! It’s wrapped up in illiquid assets and the stock market and stuff! Anyone who knows anything about the economy knows I can’t dish out that kind of money within 24 hours. Plus, I’m still technically a college student! I know my major has been undeclared for the last 15 years, but give a guy a break. There’s no way I can afford this ransom when my residential address is still technically in Stanley Hall (for tax purposes of course, I would never live in that peasant building).
You know what? This is what Leslie was talking about. I’m spineless. Cowardly. My son is being held hostage, and I’m here begging for his life instead of taking action. Jesus! I finally understand! I understand the arguments, the divorce, the reason why my son received primary custody with Leslie in the first place! I need to fight back! Thank you for awakening me to the truth.
I’m not gonna take this shit.
If you know what’s good for you, you’ll bring my son back immediately. Maybe Mike can’t come up with innovative torture techniques, but I sure can. I’m gonna put laxatives in your morning coffee. I’m gonna give you a box of mayo-filled doughnuts and tell you they’re Boston Cream Pie flavored. And you think that’s bad? Just wait until I brutally murder your entire family and frame you for the crime.
You let Mike know he’s the first on my list. And then I’m coming for every last motherfucking one of you.
Yours in peace and harmony,
The Doily Allergen
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