My letter to QuietReverie to brighten their day and because I'm nuts
Dearest,
Most Mysteriously Atmospheric @QuietReverie The Keeper of the Schwartz and Queen of the Cosmic Sundae,
By the royal order of Marnie Twizzlesprowt Bumblesproot Von Wiffle The IV (yes, *the* Fourth — we have coronation sashes and a very expensive hat), I hereby declare that your orbit around gloom has been *officially* intersected by a ridiculous parade of absurdity, delivered via your very own interstellar ice-cream-candy truck. Pull over immediately (or do a dignified loop-de-loop, your choice) and accept the following unsolicited, highly theatrical ministrations:
1) I have summoned an elite corps of tap-dancing marshmallows to perform a one-scoop salute on your hood. They will sing the national anthem of Pruidia in three-part harmony and then attempt a daring conga line off the amiable bumper. If any marshmallows escape, they are to be considered fugitives and should be apprehended with a spoon.
2) Your Schwartz is famous across six galaxies and two questionable nebulae. Please refrain from using it to fix the coffee machine without consulting the manual (or at least a small consultant). Remember: with great schnazzle comes great responsibility... and possibly glitter. Accepting glitter is mandatory.
3) Enclosed (figuratively; I am lazy with paper) is a coupon for one completely gratuitous honk of the Cosmic Sundae horn. Use it at intersections, mid-space ballets, or during particularly touching episodes of soap-operatic asteroid dramas. It will sound like a trombone made of giggles.
4) Should you encounter any melancholia, simply reverse the polarity of your mood with three brisk snaps, a kazoo solo, and an interpretive dance entitled “The Banished Sock.” If the interpretive dance fails, apply generous amounts of sprinkles and announce the failure loudly and with dignity.
5) I have commissioned the Royal Bureau of Ridiculousness to deliver a life-sized statue of you made entirely from interstellar nougat. It will arrive either tomorrow or sometime next week, depending on the whims of the delivery pigeons (they orbit, they are dramatic). Please build a pedestal, preferably something that swivels and dispenses confetti on demand.
6) In case of emergency (including, but not limited to, actual sadness, boring weather, unconvincing hats, and underperforming planets), dial Marnie’s personal emergency laugh line: emit one high-pitched snort, three curt giggles, and a prolonged, unapologetic guffaw. This code cannot fail unless intercepted by space bureaucracy, in which case request a refund in triplicate.
QuietReverie, purveyor of sweetness and wielder of the Schwartz: may your days be like a perfectly churned nebula—fluffy, a little bit sticky, and utterly impossible to eat without singing show tunes. If the universe persists in being gracelessly serious, I will personally commandeer a flotilla of custard comets and force them to confess jokes until they cry actual caramel.
With regal lashes and a suspiciously large feathered cape,
Marnie Twizzlesprowt Bumblesproot Von Wiffle The IV
Royal Queen of Planet Pruidia
(Also available for parades, minor invasions, and interpretive sandwich art)
P.S. If you ever need clandestine Schwartz tutoring, I will enroll you in “Schwartz & You: Advanced Glamor Techniques.” Attire: sparkly, practical, and suspiciously triumphant.
Most Mysteriously Atmospheric @QuietReverie The Keeper of the Schwartz and Queen of the Cosmic Sundae,
By the royal order of Marnie Twizzlesprowt Bumblesproot Von Wiffle The IV (yes, *the* Fourth — we have coronation sashes and a very expensive hat), I hereby declare that your orbit around gloom has been *officially* intersected by a ridiculous parade of absurdity, delivered via your very own interstellar ice-cream-candy truck. Pull over immediately (or do a dignified loop-de-loop, your choice) and accept the following unsolicited, highly theatrical ministrations:
1) I have summoned an elite corps of tap-dancing marshmallows to perform a one-scoop salute on your hood. They will sing the national anthem of Pruidia in three-part harmony and then attempt a daring conga line off the amiable bumper. If any marshmallows escape, they are to be considered fugitives and should be apprehended with a spoon.
2) Your Schwartz is famous across six galaxies and two questionable nebulae. Please refrain from using it to fix the coffee machine without consulting the manual (or at least a small consultant). Remember: with great schnazzle comes great responsibility... and possibly glitter. Accepting glitter is mandatory.
3) Enclosed (figuratively; I am lazy with paper) is a coupon for one completely gratuitous honk of the Cosmic Sundae horn. Use it at intersections, mid-space ballets, or during particularly touching episodes of soap-operatic asteroid dramas. It will sound like a trombone made of giggles.
4) Should you encounter any melancholia, simply reverse the polarity of your mood with three brisk snaps, a kazoo solo, and an interpretive dance entitled “The Banished Sock.” If the interpretive dance fails, apply generous amounts of sprinkles and announce the failure loudly and with dignity.
5) I have commissioned the Royal Bureau of Ridiculousness to deliver a life-sized statue of you made entirely from interstellar nougat. It will arrive either tomorrow or sometime next week, depending on the whims of the delivery pigeons (they orbit, they are dramatic). Please build a pedestal, preferably something that swivels and dispenses confetti on demand.
6) In case of emergency (including, but not limited to, actual sadness, boring weather, unconvincing hats, and underperforming planets), dial Marnie’s personal emergency laugh line: emit one high-pitched snort, three curt giggles, and a prolonged, unapologetic guffaw. This code cannot fail unless intercepted by space bureaucracy, in which case request a refund in triplicate.
QuietReverie, purveyor of sweetness and wielder of the Schwartz: may your days be like a perfectly churned nebula—fluffy, a little bit sticky, and utterly impossible to eat without singing show tunes. If the universe persists in being gracelessly serious, I will personally commandeer a flotilla of custard comets and force them to confess jokes until they cry actual caramel.
With regal lashes and a suspiciously large feathered cape,
Marnie Twizzlesprowt Bumblesproot Von Wiffle The IV
Royal Queen of Planet Pruidia
(Also available for parades, minor invasions, and interpretive sandwich art)
P.S. If you ever need clandestine Schwartz tutoring, I will enroll you in “Schwartz & You: Advanced Glamor Techniques.” Attire: sparkly, practical, and suspiciously triumphant.
