Milo!

Holy shit, you’re alive! Lenore’s going to hack pieces out of you, mate. Where are you? I’ll come and get you. I’ll send a car. I buy you bloody flowers. I don’t care. Forgive me, Milo. I was just having a bit of fun. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I feel awful. I’m such rubbish at this whole blogging thing anyway.

I'm sorry

Okay, I admit it! I lied. There are no aliens. Never were any aliens. A lot of the tour was true, but I made that bit up. Happy now? I’m sorry! Just come back to the hotel, Milo. We’ve missed our flight home to America. I just want to go back to New York and have things be like they used to be. I’ll stop exaggerating on the blog. I’ll stop writing on the blog if you’ll just come back. Please.

Help

Hi, everyone. Burbank here. I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but I’m stepping out of my guise. I realize that there is quite a community of fans on this blog, and if anyone can accomplish nearly impossible tasks, I know it’s you. Milo has been gone two days now. Lenore’s been in and out of the police station more times than I’ve got toes, and I’ve been sticking Missing posters all over town. I’m really worried that something awful has happened to him. He’s never been angry before, not like this. He’s normally very nice. I’m skeptical about him torturing us for this long by hiding out. Maybe the aliens got him. If you have seen him, do email me or tell the police. Thank you.

Yours,
Burbank Jammaker

158. New Competition

New competition! If you have seen me in Cork, Ireland (or thereabouts), please email Burbank at milohtomb@yahoo.com. If you win, I will give you my soul. I’m apparently not using it anyway. Wanted alive, but will accept dead if no other state of being is possible.

157. Hermit

Still no sign of me.

156. Stretching it out

It’s nearly dinner time and I am still not back at the hotel. Lenore and Burbank have both tried to ring my mobile, but I have not picked up.

155. Up and Left

Somehow, at some point during the night, I mustered the sobriety to escape my hotel room unnoticed by the others. This is a remarkable feat as Burbank and Lenore were up all night talking and I was, as they say, drunk as a skunk. Also because Burbank has ears like a bat.

I imagine that he did come into my room at some point to find my drunken scrawling and I take pleasure in the fact that he nor Lenore has any idea where I am. I think I will make them suffer a little by being unreachable despite the fact that this childish act is ungrounded and dangerous for the publishers. Oh well, I know Burbank will take care of it. I’d trust him ‘til the end of the world.