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Photo recreation by Jim Bob Hume
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A Letter From Jenni Wu
A Moist Trailer Drove Jenni to Japan
Dear Andrew–
I swear that I’m getting dumber and dumber by the day, which means that I’m probably three or four months dumber than I was when began our correspondence. Additionally, I’m tired. V-e-r-y tired. Have you ever read Dune? If so, you know all about “terrible purpose”. We all have terrible purposes, Andrew Hume, and mine remains unfulfilled.
There have been innumerable problems hindering the completion of this article. Some have been technical (computer crashing, Law and Order: SVU on all day, every day) and some have been personal (too depressed about having graduated from college to get out of bed, too terrified of Jim’s cat to leave Jim’s bedroom). However, given your failure to pay me in anything but t-shirts and your oft-mentioned zealous love of alcoholic beverages, I suspect that both your ethical standards and your journalistic integrity are low, verging on nonexistent. Hence, I have given myself complete leeway to forego my vague assignment (A bittersweet tragicomedy about renting a trailer from two gay men named Budd and Donovan, who deal in used RVs, marijuana, and amateur interior design schemes. About taking the bus to work at 5 in the morning for the sole purpose of unpackaging lower-luxury items made by Asian children who are both skinnier AND cuter than me. About not staring at every Asian-American bitch with a Louis Vuitton purse who came to voice her singular demand: “YOU GOT SHIRT? SIZE X-S!” About going to work unshowered due to burst water pipes and smelling vaguely of mildew. About not having hot water, even once the pipes were fixed. About not having heat and barely having electricity. About how my boyfriend bought me the wrong kind of Chanel perfume for Christmas. About how I had to take his Prada wallet back to Saks and exchange it because “the leather wasn’t quite right” on the first one. About...well, you get the picture.) in lieu of something more interesting and important.
Once, I saw a dead cat on the sidewalk. Another time, I saw a bird that had been smashed into my driveway during a mild Iowa tornado. On Valentine’s Day, I saw two birds picking at the innards of an ambiguously specied animal. Dead animals are everywhere, stalling human progress, making humans incapable of walking freely without fear, reminding us that we are not alone on this planet. Living animals are equally omnipresent, eating babies when no one’s looking, shitting where they’re not supposed to and worst of all, dying. Animals think that they’re better than humans. They are constantly immersed in their bad intentions, but since they’re animals we have no idea what they’re plotting. They’re just waiting. Waiting to die.
I, too, am just waiting to die (which is entirely different than “Living to Die”). I finally caved and got Chanel glasses. My eyesight is failing, and I am no longer perfect–I have admitted my mortal weakness. So, to compensate for this blow to my self-esteem, I’m moving to Japan where I will be taller than average, and where all of the animals have been replaced by robots.
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Volume 2, Issue 2 contents
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