To the Pyramid People

Dear Pyramid People,

I guess my first query would be, what in the sam hell were you doing in my front yard?

It's not like I cared you were out there. You did seem really jolly and lovely with your Birkenstocks and socks and your little crystal necklaces that swung in circles. What's that called? Dowsing, or something...right? Its just that you left before I could come out and ask you some questions I feel you'd provide entertaining answers to, like, what were those wire-frame pyramid hats you were wearing? Why was there a crystal dangling over your brain? Why does the guy who works at Crystal Magic wear a clown nose? Maybe you wouldn't know that last one. He's nice.

I'm told you think there's a portal to another dimension where I park my car, but I assure you, the portal is down the street at the stop sign. I totally know it is, because I run that stop sign twice a day, and clearly, if there wasn't a portal or some other such wacky shit there, I'd come to a complete stop, look both ways and then proceed like a good citizen of Sedona with my hands at ten and two.

My friend Chuck thinks the portal is in my vag, but he wants to do me, so it should be assumed that his notion is at best an exaggeration, and at worst, a lie.

So, shoot me an email or something. I'm all ears.

Yours,
E.