A Letter to Sweetie Pie

Dear Sweetie Pie,

I’m writing this letter to you by candlelight. The weather’s frightening this time of year. The wind blew off two roof sheets last night, and one of the trees further down the street fell over onto the power lines which caused a power cut. They say it will take days to repair. You always liked candlelight.

As you’re aware, this is our fourth anniversary; and as usual, I’m having my only cup of coffee for the year tonight. There are only two sachets left. Ha! I remember it like yesterday when we argued about which brand of coffee to buy. I wanted Mocca roasted coffee beans, but you said then we’ll have to buy a percolator.  And we laughed about how strange a word percolator is, and I asked why is it spelled p-e-r-c-o and not p-e-r-c-u?—and you answered why isn’t ‘enough’ spelled e-n-u- double-f? Of course I got the message and shut up, and we bought the three-in-one Nescafé sachets you wanted.

Speaking of which, the former of CEO of Nestlé, Peter Brabeck-Letmathe, said in an interview the other day that water is not a human right. Can you believe that? He reckons water should be privatized. What’s next, I wonder. Will Pepsico privatize our farts and thoughts as well? Probably. I don’t think I’m going to drink this cup of Nescafé now. I still think we should’ve bought the percolator and some Mocca coffee beans, but you never know, Pepsico or Nestlé might own that too.

Hm. What else is in the news? Obama looks shattered. Isn’t it strange how quickly ‘world leaders’ age. Thatcher, Mitterand, Reagan, Bush and Busher, Blair, Mandela, you name ‘em. I’m inclined to think it’s stress that brings on old age faster than it should. Perhaps it’s the stress of guilt and greed and corruption and not being able to live with yourself because you know you’re coward and a puppet and an absolute cock who’s responsible for lining the pockets of the big boys and for the death of millions. The only one who doesn’t age is Putin. I don’t think he’s human.

But I’m not writing to you to go off on one; I’m writing to say goodbye. This is my last letter, like this is the last cup of Nescafé three-in-one I’ll make. I’m going for a walk—a very long walk. I bought a tent (no, not made by Pepsico or Nestlé {is the one company owned by the other?}), and some camping gear as well. I had to sell the Datsun to buy all of this stuff—apologies. The sleeping bag alone cost a bloody fortune.

I’ve had enough of this old world. It’s making me old, and my beard is turning the colour of Obama’s hair. My pubes, too!


Rest in peace, Sweetie Pie. When I return—I don’t know when—I will come and visit and place a daisy on your grave. I just hope they don’t fill in the quarry while I’m away.



FUCK LIFEwords by Ramon Ramirez

art by Craig Hopson



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