My name is Andreas Ericsson. Stijn has asked me to take over this month’s letter because he’s one big lazy ass. Since I’m from Sweden, you must excuse me for the use of the language called English. I would really like to adress you all in the wonderful language Dutch, but because my knowledge of that beautiful tongue is limited to “godverdomme” and “ezel”, I am stuck to English. Even this may be not a good enough excuse, but you need to take me for my word when I say my Dutch is even worse then my mother’s Brussels sprouts combined with my father’s liver and onions all poured over with the delicious sauce bearnaise of the well-known cook Baldrick. But I’m not here to provide a culinary aspect to this letter. Not by far. I am giving you and only you the by far greatest honour of reading the biggest masterpiece ever written, not by Stephen King, J. K. Rowling or that other potterer called Roald Dahl. No, they don’t even come close to the talent of this great writer, namely yours truly Andreas Ericsson.
A masterpiece indeed. I was talking about it last month to Stijn on a stormy night when nothing was on TV, radio or any other type of amusement, because why would I even talk to Stijn besides when nothing to do. But that is drifting and a whole other story. So I said to Stijn – after I promised to do this month’s letter – «You will be even more overwhelmed by the power of the words in my “piece de résistance” then you were when you first found out that a spoon is more then just a shiny object with which you can see your own buttocks.» His response was more doubtful then I could ever have hoped for, so I quote his beautiful words exactly. «I promise you, to surpass that experience, you will need much more then a kind word.» If that isn’t bold. Well dear Stijn, look and shiver. Let my Magnus Opus astonish your pale white arse.
I know you will have to agree for it is written. A prophecy penned down on the most sacred scrolls. I can’t be taken responsible for the consequences of the sad sas story following this sentence, please if you are a sensitive person read it! I was only six years old when I first came across “The Scrolls”. The frale white pages containing the most holy content were just hanging there in plain sight! Think of the tomb raiders, treasure hunters and other scum who could have restrained me in fulfilling my destiny (nvdr.: «Verdammt») if they just where a little bit faster. Even my own brother, my own flesh and blood – maybe not literally, but you get my point – could have stopped my life’s work. He and only he had just left that little room in my grandfather’s house for five minuters, a room where I perhaps passed thousands and thousands of time without noticing “It” at all. Chicken! When the stupidness completely sunk, I started reading “The Scrolls”. It stated that once upon a time, still to come, a small, good looking boy with the ass of a seven-year-old, aged only twenty years old creates the most sacred, beautiful, meaningful (red. a.k.a. Stijn: «but still mostely meaningless») writing of all time. But he will only complete that mission if he always puts the seat of the toilet down when finished doing his business and never forgets to flush. Then I just knew it. “The Scrolls” meant me, and only me. So I started to uphole the prophecy, and now I’m twenty years on the day and I know my masterpiece is coming.
As I said a chef d’œuvre and I can know. I have read all those toiletpapers of books everyone calls classics. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Hobbit ...; Hugo Claus’s The grief of Belgium; Umberto Eco’s The name of the rose and so on and so on. One by one plain rubbish of words thrown on a piece of paper to sell, sell, sell. Money’s the only thing writers are after, but not me! I’m here to produce my work, the work of works! Something those potterers aren’t able to ever come close to!
Oh bugger. I’ve run out of time and space. Oh well, the masterpiece will have to wait a little bit longer. Luckily Stijn is such a loafer. It will not be long! [evil]HAHAHAHA[/evil]
Met vriendelijke groeten, Stijn.
