To start, I’d just like to confirm that this is not a letter to myself. You are a different person. You live in a different country. Can you confirm this?
Blink 46 times if you can hear me.
I don’t think you can hear me. Or maybe you just can’t blink.
I’ll have to send out a Paul Call that only people named Paul respond to. It’s like morse code for people. Wait…morse code is for people…
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Oh good, you replied. Yes, you are a different person.
We’ve known each other for almost three years, have you realized that? Three years of two people from different countries, named Paul, being friends with each other. For me, this is a record.
I did some digging, with a shovel…okay it was a spoon, a plastic one…a plastic spoon, happy now? Anyway, while I dug, I discovered that you’ve left 280 comments on my blog posts over the years and the first one was in response to what colour the black and blue dress was.
I find that fitting. Not the dress, I couldn’t possibly fit in it. I’m like Yogi Bear, minus the wide knees. What’s the about? Wait, he also has really tiny legs. I don’t. Man, this comparison is awful.
For people who don’t know you, they should know that you put a lot of effort into your comments. Or maybe that’s just for my blog, in which case, everyone else reading this -whose blog you’ve commented on – is feeling ripped off. Oops.
But really, sometimes I’ll read your comments and can tell you’ve put more effort into them than I did in my post.
One of your comments was so good, that I posted it as a blog post so my readers could see your brilliance at work.
Your humour is so intricate and so very Paul-esque.
I try to keep up, but I can’t.
That line earlier in this letter about me digging…that was me trying to replicate your style of humour. I don’t think I came close, so I tried to make another quick joke by adding the bit about the dress not fitting.
Then it spiralled into Yogi Bear and now I’m thinking about picnic baskets.
I don’t know how you do it.
I think of myself as a funny person, but you’re a step above. Almost as if we’re in a bunk bed.
See, that was yet another failed attempt at me trying to match your level of humour, but I just made it sound awkward instead.
Anyway, I’ve been a fan of your blog since I found it and still believe that you have one of the best blog titles out there – “In My Cluttered Attic”.
To close off the cheesy section of this letter, I just want to thank you. Thank you for caring about my blog enough to spend time commenting. Thank you for your humour. And thank you for being genuine when the time calls for it.
I feel like that’s a universal “Paul thing”. We can be hilarious and witty 26 hours of the day, but when the time calls for it, we can be serious and thoughtful. Maybe people with other names can do that too, but whatever. This isn’t about them.
This is a Paul Party and there ain’t no party like a Paul Party ‘cuz a Paul Party don’t…don’t…uhhh what does a Paul Party “don’t do”? I’ve misplaced the handbook.
Now let’s have some fun.
The topic you wanted me to tell you more about was, what it’s like being Canadian/American identical twins who lack a common bloodline and yet we both share the same heritage.
Well, bro. Can I call you “bro”? I mean, we are twins who were born in separate countries with different bloodlines, after all.
I’m making an executive decision. I’m calling you Bro-merica. You can call me Bro-nada. It’s per-fect.
Okay, enough with the hyphens, Paul. (Talking to myself, not you). You may use as many hyphens as you want.
Side note: Small tip to success in life: Always remember the three H’s of success.
Hydrate. Hyphenate. Hexercise.
You’ll live until you’re 143.
Alright, back to the story of us being twins from different countries.
Well, it’s quite simple. We share a common name.
But wait, there’s more!
Remember that time when you were a kid and you built that snow fort in your backyard? Me neither. Because you’re from California.
While you weren’t building snow forts. I was. And one day, I dug a hole so far, that I found grass. Grass! Might as well have been China. It was upon that discovery that I realized I might have a twin.
You might want to read that paragraph again if it didn’t make sense to you.
So with that knowledge, I closed my eyes, filled my ears with snow, and said, “TWINKIE”.
You know, the socially acceptable war cry when you want to find your twin.
And then the snow in my ears turned to water and I took that as a sign that my twin was out there in a much warmer climate than I. One that did not support snow. Hence the snow was melting.
And that’s how I knew. My question for you is…how did you know I was calling out to you? Did your water freeze over?
One thing that interests you is Nepal’s non-rectangular flag. Because of course it does.
Kudos to them for being different, I suppose.
Lastly, you asked me if Snidely Whiplash was his real name.
I’ll be honest, Bro-merica, I have no clue who you’re talking about, though the name rings a bell. We might be twins with the same name, from different countries, but our brains are not linked. I don’t have a USB port up there.
My brain only takes VHS tapes.
Snidely Whiplash. Let me Google this before I become Paully Whiplash.
Ohhh I get it. He’s the archenemy of Dudley Do-Right, who is a Mountie.
This is a Canadian question and it went right over my head into the Atlantic Ocean.
No, Snidely Whiplash is not his real name. It’s just one of his many aliases.
He was previous known as Mischievous Monty, but Monty sounded too much like Mountie, so he needed a new gimmick.
Before he was Mischievous Monty (M&M) he was….wait, time out.
Can I just say that the word “Mischievous” is so difficult to type? Try it at home.
Before he was M&M, he was Thomas Tankerson, but then Thomas the Tank Engine became popular and he lost his steam.
GET IT? THAT WAS A TRAIN PUN.
His real name is Theodore Ravioli IV. He’s Italian. I know, you weren’t expecting that either, but my research doesn’t lie.
It just bends the truth
until it’s no longer recognizable.
Well Paul, that’s all I got.
Again, thanks again for everything. I’ll see you at home for dinner. And by that I mean, I’ll eat dinner in my house in a different country and time zone, and you’ll eat dinner at your house in a different country, three hours after me.
This makes complete sense.
With maple syrup and beavers,
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