Life Imitates ArtAt the risk of destroying my credibility (but in tribute to my fiction-writing skills?) I confess that my previous "Dear Mr. Netflix" letter was entirely made up. I was awaiting "The Queen," and was worrying about whether she might meet a grisly fate in the jaws of the dog, but, in fact, aside from a little shredding around the edges, she arrived just fine.
However, Bree of "Transamerica" was not so fortunate. His/her cover was completely decimated, and the disk was punctured multiple times. I fear my dog is not politically correct with respect to transgender issues.
And I'm not sure if I'm prescient (insert jokes about "the wrong queen" here), or if I've simply been suitably punished for my audacious bit of fantasy.
Labels: Liars never prosper