Dear MG

I know I promised you a new Guide to Pride, but truth is, I gots nothing.

I started working on it and then got sidetracked. I tried working on it again and slipped into a coma.

I recovered, got up, did a hot rail and was twitching too much to properly type.

I apologize and hope you don't hate me. Or wish that I have children one day and their puppy gets run over. That would be, well, kinda mean. And, I know you're not a mean person.

Ferg, on the other hand, is kinda mean. He sent me a picture of what my pony would look like if I had one. It was a picture of a dead pony. I'm serious, I can forward you the picture. It frightened me. Mean, right?

Ok, so the truth is I just got sidetracked. I didn't slip into a coma, recover, do a hot rail and twitch. I mean, I like my sleep too much. Ferg did send me a picture of my hypothetical dead pony though. I was on the floor of my closet in fetal position for an hour. All right, all right, no fetal position in the closet - the picture however is not fabricated. It's a real picture of my dead pony. Except, I want a real, live pony.

Love Always,
Arman