Today, and for the first time since the birth of this blog, I received a mail from a reader, a female reader. The latter-day article will thus be related to this e-mail at which I’m going to try and answer as truly as possible. Here you can discover the concerned e-mail.
I stumbled upon your blog, and I really find it groovy! I would love to meet you, unfortunately I live in Dieppe and I believe it’s too far. I am 12 years old and my parents will never let me take the train alone. What a shame. You really write very well and you are lucky that your name is Brad Pitt. My name is Carrot, but everybody calls me Poo because my last name is Dropping. Some also call me Poo the Carrot, or Carrot-who-chews-some-poo, or even Carrot-Poo-taste… they are stupid. They are stupid and nasty. My mom says that. You, you’re so lucky to have a dumb mother because me my mother is very intelligent and so she works as an astrophysics engineer for the NASA. She earns a lot of money and our house is gigantic. On the other hand she is almost never at home. Sometimes I wonder that it would be nice for her to have an accident like your mother.
You know, I wanted to tell you that it’s cool also that you talk about children’s willy and fanny, well we are more teens than children, because grown-up people never talk about that. I do think that it’s because they try to forget their own stories of when they were young that they don’t talk about our stories. I’m sure that you’ll end up become a famous writer, that’s why I would like to ask you a few questions, because for my part I wish to be a famous journalist. Here is my interview.
Brad Pitt, how did the idea of writing this blog come up to you ?
Brad Pitt, what is your favourite colour ?
Who is your favourite actor ?
Do you like chocolate ?
If you had a son, how would you name him? Flistule or Micheton ?
When you poo, do you first put a bit of paper at the bottom of the basin ?
Because I do it, it prevents spattering when droppings fall into the water. What is your bedside book ? What is your favourite movie ?
There, thanks a lot.
Hugs and kisses.
I’m only 15 and yet I can often see on TV some actors, front men or sportsmen who haven’t been seen for a while. I can see them for example in reality shows. In those shows I also see other people who are unknown people but who act as if they were famous. Anyway they’re not famous to me. First I though that the reason was that they were famous before my birth. But I think they’re too young for that. In short, those famous people who reappear, each time, I look at them and I think to myself: « oh boy, this guy has become so old !! »
Sometimes Carrot, I say to myself that I am very old, like 25, 30 or 40, and I really believe it, you see. And even though it can sound weird, when I think about that, I have a strange feeling in my throat. You know Carrot, when I go to bed at night, I can sometimes hear Crocheton’s voice in his bed who murmurs in the dark « why are you crying? » I answer that I’m not crying, god night. I can tell you Carrot, why I am crying in bed: it’s because I imagine myself walking behind a coffin held by men dressed in black, and behind me there are many other people walking. It’s a funeral. It’s my mom who died. If I tell this to Crocheton, I don’t know if we would understand. I believe I’m not normal.
It’s always harmful when I think that one day mom will leave us. It hurts me simply because I’m old enough now. To know that it’s inevitable. I’m not like those stupid kids who wail that they’re gonna change things and that all of this will not happen. No, I do know that it’s like that and that we can’t do anything. That one day I will be a man and that mom will leave. I’m saying that just like that you know, but I can tell you that it’s hard for me to write it for it really hurts me to think about it.
I will never call my son Micheton. Every Micheton I know are assholes.
One day, I will also be dead, and you too Carrot. Nobody to tell us «smellyass».
Nobody to tell us we suck.
You know Carrot, I don’t like chocolate. But my favourite colour is brown. It’s silly: when I read this sentence again it makes me cry. I must seriously not be normal.