Philosophy Later

Fake letter written in response to a friend's experience of several years of silence and non acknowledgment from the popular journal Philosophy Now. Not sent, and no real ill will wished on this fine publication. Just for fun!

Dear Editor,

This is the widow of Glenn Chafedaughter. After waiting several long months for your acknowledgement, Glenn began his descent into a deep funk. He has always admired Philosophy Now, to the point of having large blown up covers on his wall and making (and wearing proudly!) his homemade Philosophy Now--Forever! T-shirts. For Glenn, your silence was deafening.

As the weeks turned into months, and then years, and then back to months, and then days, but not minutes, Glenn passed through his now full-blown depressive phase and matured...into what has come to be called "his dangerously angry phase." Several postal workers quit their jobs (all just short of retirement) and Glenn's dog became so afraid that she built her own doghouse and moved in, just to get away from Glenn. While I was never personally threatened by him, I installed an "invisible fence" inside the house to keep me safe while I slept.

But as everyone knows, anger, too, is just a phase. It gave way to a kind of dissolute ranting, coupled with an egregious disregard for personal grooming. Both the Centers for Disease Control and FEMA put Glenn on their "top threats" list, and local vagrants began to gossip about Glenn's "fragrance." In fact, he was so pungent that by merely walking by our gas stove Glenn caused a three foot flame to leap across our kitchen, roasting several apples and our parakeet in the incident.

But I digress. Eventually, Glenn became less of a person than a walking black hole. First his words then later the very sounds emanating from his mouth were drawn urgently back into his personal event horizon. More vortex than man, Glenn's final words--true on so many levels--were: "Man, I suck!" And with that utterance he shrivelled into a tiny spot of light and odor and popped out of existence. He was gone.

So thank you for your kind note. While it's too late to save Glenn, it's not too late to inflict his thought on your unsuspecting readers. Wherever Glenn is now, if he is, he'll be smiling his sickly half-brained smile at the notion that the "Greatest Magazine Ever!" (his words) has published the fruit of his "mind-loins" (his words).

Very Sincerely Yours,

Mrs. Glenn Chafedaughter

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