Memorandum

Gentle readers,

It is my pleasure to inform you that yours truly is finally moving from the amniotic stranglehold/comforts of my parents' basement into my own digs in the Big City. I know this will come as a great relief to my current neighbour, Mrs. Johansson, whom I chastise regularly with accusations of being a whore, slut, and filthy home-wrecker. (Poor thing; she's never quite got the joke there.)

But anyway, it also comes as a relief to me as I have spent far too long languishing under my parents' roof; eating their food, and soiling their towels. So, in spite of my family's concerns, housing costs, and what my shrink calls a "down reaching and obdurate sense of agoraphobia and misanthropy", I have decided to take the logical next step and move out.

What does this mean to you, gentle reader? First, it means more access to yours truly, as I am no longer bound by my curfew or vehicle access issues. And second, specifically for the females: you can once again scream during sex. I'm all ears, ladies.

Of course, I will not be hosting cocktail parties or the like because I continue to detest the majority of you. My new place, a bachelor apartment above a Persian restaurant, will be open only to "sluts" and those who bring me Chinese food or any combination thereof.

Please forward your hate mail accordingly.

Big city bound,

Harvey

P.S. Though I am not throwing a housewarming party, I am accepting housewarming gifts. Some stemware would be nice, but I really actually need some light switch covers and possibly a George Foreman grill.