The tale of why I've not been writing any posts lately, or, No it's not because I'm lazy.

     So some of you may have Noticed I haven't written any posts for a while, breaking my new year's resolution of writing one Every week. There is a good reason for this however. And in this post, I'll be recounting the reasons why.
     It all started on January 23th, 2012. I got a letter in the mail with no return address. As a person generally living in the 21st century, I wasn't used to getting letters, particularly mysterious ones. I stuck the letter in my coat pocket, and made my way back to the house. Once in my room, I sat on my bed and looked at the letter. It was a yellow envelope, fairly unusual, though we had some we occasionally used. It had no stamp on it, but it was addressed to SF Gavin Richardson. I don't know how normal people open letters, but as I never receive letters I am quite inexperienced with opening envelopes. So I do what I normally do when I receive a letter, try to open it like it was intended to be opened, get frustrated, claw at it until I can get an opening, and then proceed to rip it to shreds, usually leaving the contents intact.
     I unfolded the letter that I had pulled out of the ripped remains of the envelope. The lights in my room flickered. I looked around suspiciously. My lights never flickered unless there was a storm. But I went back to reading the letter.

"Dear Mr. Richardson,--"

 Before I could get past the greeting, I heard a noise from the kitchen. No one was at home, so I wondered what it could be. I supposed it was just one of those noises that the house makes when no one else is home, like "creeaaaaaakkkk" or "Gavin, I'm coming to kill you," but I decided to check it out anyway. I put the letter down and slowly walked to the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. While I was in the kitchen I decided to grab the bag of Doritos. That isn't important to the story, I just like Doritos. I went back to my room and picked up the letter. Suspenseful music started playing. I ate a Dorito. I reopened the letter.

"Dear Mr. Richardson,

Are you tired of paying too much for cable? Have you or a loved one died from using the drug euxjruhuweuweoueouebananaqfohefioizine after a hip replacement surgery? Are you tired of being fat?

Well we have just the product for you."

This seemed like a legitimate offer, and I had recently died, after all, and I was left feeling out of shape after Skinny Hank's Peanut Sauce failed to make a difference in my physique. I decided to call the number at the bottom of the letter. 

    The phone rung. After a few seconds of ringing an old Indian woman picked up the phone. "Hello?" I said. "Yo." said the old Indian woman. 

    "Yes, I'm calling about the product I received this letter about?"

"Ok." she said. 

 There was a silence for the next several minutes, save the buzzing of the phone. 

"Hello?" I said again.

    "Sup," the old Indian woman said. 

    My cat brushed against my leg. He looked up at me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, his ears flopping. He was the biggest, ugliest cat I had ever seen, and at first I didn't want to keep him. But after a while, he started growing on me, much like mold on bread, except not as literal. I threw a carrot I conveniently was holding at him. He grabbed it in his ugly cat-muzzle and scampered down the hall. 

    The old Indian lady was obviously not going to help me, so I hung up the phone. I exited the phone room and made my way back to the bedroom. What waited for me there I could never had imagined. 

       I opened my bedroom door. I gasped. Actually didn't gasp. I made a quizzical expression, which is usually as close as I get to gasping. There, standing on the other side of the room... Was me. But with sunglasses. "What are you doing here?" I asked, surprised. "Who are you?" 

     "I'm you..." He said, taking off his sunglasses, "From the future." 

      "Ok."

So we went on adventures fighting space pirates, basically. 

The end.