When I got your first package in the mail, I have to admit that I was somewhat flattered. Maybe even intrigued a little. But certainly not turned on by the contents of the thirty pages you tore out of a Penthouse erotic novel. Don’t get me wrong- I’ve got a seasoned palate. But the contents of that book didn’t really do much for me. In fact, it made me a little bit unnerved- but still curious of who would send me such a thing?

You were clever in your mailing method- it was cute that you included “United States” underneath the Zip+4 which you included to ensure prompt delivery – even though it was mailed from the same zip code where I reside. And even cuter was that you so painstakingly printed the return address and taped it to the envelope- using my address.

Perplexed, I was.

And then, a couple of weeks later when you mailed me that four page section of a Russian newspaper that was, presumably, the entertainment section (I can’t read Russian…so I can only hypothesize) and so cutely made that little cutout of two stick figures engaged in, um, relations and stapled it under the photo of the Russian actor behind bars….I must say that’s when this affair began to get mildly concerning.

But nearly a month went by with nary another letter. I was partly relieved but also sort of disappointed that I’d never get another clue as to who you may be.

Sure, I ignored your repeated requests (in printed, ransom-letter form taped to the contents of both packages) to “keep this to yourself” and that you “hope you like secrets, Michael” because, Stalker, I didn’t keep them to myself. In fact, I’ve told almost everyone I know about these kooky little packages I keep getting. (I’m not sure if you recall this or not, but I am a blogger. Which, more-or-less translates to “I Have A Big Mouth And Don’t Know When To Shut It”) so, of COURSE I’m going to tell people about this.

But I would have kept it off of the blog until the envelope I got this week…remember that one? Oh, it was so engaging, er, uh…chilling to get another odd envelope in  my mailbox that felt as if it had some sort of a stick…or possibly a needle in it.

I dashed up to my apartment and carefully opened the letter- careful not to touch the contents- and emptied it on the table. Thank you, Stalker, for sending me that four inch stick of pussy willow and folding it into two pieces of paper; one which read “Pussy” in 72 point bold typeface and the second sheet of paper reading “willow” in 8 point font.

It was so thoughtful of you. Where oh where did you ever find pussy willow this time of year?

Maybe Clarion? Perhaps Erie? I just don’t know…I just don’t know where one would find that genus of plant in this climate.

Look, seriously- thank you for the letters.

And if you’re the same person who has been flagging my Scooter for Sale posts on Craigslist, I’d appreciate if you’d stop that too.

It’s silly.

Obviously, I don’t know who you are. You might be a fan of this site. Maybe a fan of my politics. Perhaps an admirer of the shows that I put on. Or, as I suspect, you might be a recent ex girlfriend of mine who’s obviously having a hard time letting go of things.

I ask you, respectfully, of course, to quit with the letters. I have a good hunch of who you are.

And if I have any trouble actually figuring things out, I’m sure the Postal Inspector won’t have a hard time figuring out who’s behind this federal crime.

Sincerely yours,

Jersey Mike

(Oh, PS? If you’re also the one who signed my name and phone number and address up on a bunch of financial sites, I’d appreciate if you’d quit that shit too.)