4/5/01

Thanks to Phebe half the fucking planet now knows I’m trying to write a novel about her namesake Phebe Reynolds in the Revolutionary War. First it was Percy who found out, and then he must have told Swami Hard Salami. And now even my fucking Probation Officer, Cupid Boy, he fucking knows somehow too.

Good luck, he says. Somehow I doubt you’re gonna become the next Ernest Hemmingway, but anything that preoccupies you from engaging in crime, I’ll have to support it.

I’m thinking Percy must have blabbed it to him. I think Percy feels bad for the guy. Seems like Cupid Boy’s always hanging around Percy’s neighborhood pounding on Cupcake’s door.

I know you’re in there! Why do you do this? Open up!

Percy tells me he takes him inside to quiet things, consoles him with cups of hot tea. What I understand, Percy tried to give the young fucker his honest opinion that he needed to move on, but the guy’s apparently not hearing it. The guy wanted to know if Cupcake’s been at her trailer on my farm anytime.

I think she has a stalker, one of these creep ex-boyfriends. I’m worried about her out alone on your farm on the nature walks she’s been taking there.

Little more than just springtime horniness at play with Cupid Boy, methinks. And people think I’ve lost my mind.

With all these people expecting me now to produce a historical novel about the Revolutionary War I better start working on it. That such activity will also preoccupy me from engaging in crime will surely count as an additional bonus.

Good fucking gracious.