First of all, the whole idea about what happens
when the tree falls in the forest and whether or not
it makes a sound: You sent me out for this scientific
question and quite frankly you must be some robot
who only thinks anything happens when a dollar
gets digitized in a bank in the Cayman Islands.
Stop.
Second, there is very little internet access along
the Forest Road on the Mogollon Rim, dude. Stop.
How are we supposed to relay any kind of message
at all if you don't even know that? Stop. You promised
coverage for all, and we were naked to the winds,
thus requiring daily runs to Walmart in Payson,
and I ate red vines that made me sick as a dog.
Stop.
Third, no savages were found in the area other than ourselves,
since there's little water up there, short of what
falls on your head, and rumors of bear
were just wild stories made up to keep
us in our tents. Wood was picked clean
throughout, as the Imperial Cruisers roaming
up and down had run up the dust, down the rest.
Stop.
Fourth, and I mean this sincerely, sir.
No one mentioned your name once
up there, probably due to the lack
of a decent Twitter feed,
as well as a common desire
among those present to get away from any idea of you,
since we are all running from that daily disgrace in the first place.
Stop. End Message.
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