Behold the document.
Who wrote it? I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.
That would leave a mess for somebody else to clean up, and my mother, Josephine Rhodes Brenner, may the Godz rest her troubled soul, didn’t raise me to leave messes for other people.
“You won’t be like these other fucking American men whose mothers picked up after them, oh no, I won’t do that for you! You’ll learn to pick up your clothes and put them away properly folded in the right drawers, and put your toys in the toy box, and you’ll learn to make proper English nurse’s hospital corners on beds, like I used to do, and how to serve me a proper cup of tea…” in her High Yorkshire brogue.
And so it went. I was, I don’t know, maybe 9? In our new house on Ivywood Lane? Maybe a little older. And starting, at last, to separate from her as an independent human being.
But I digress.
Yes, my name, and that of my second wife, are on the document as its authors. However, I cannot authenticate it, because of what happened after that.
And that’s what I can’t tell you. Let’s just say that a divorce covers a multitude of sins, not all of them mine, by any stretch! (Interested parties are referred to my novel Mel-Khyor: An Interstellar Affair, available as a trade paperback on Amazon.com or as an audio book wherever finer audio books are sold.)
Well, we did write this together, Mrs. Brenner #2 (she never actually bothered to change her last name, and at the time I believed her when she said all her fellow professionals were familiar with her under her family name). I think her contributions were substantial, but I don’t know where she is, as she has not bothered to communicate with me since we received an unexpected but welcome repayment from the State of New Mexico, which I generously, honestly, split with her.
Just call me Mr. Nice Guy. (Hey, ex, have you paid off the Sears vinyl siding you insisted on getting?)
But my attorneys, the international Sino-Soviet firm of Vydonchya Fukkov and Hop-U Dai, known to many as Fukkov & Dai, have insisted (and charged me a shitload of money) that I publish the following disclaimer:
The opinions expressed below are not necessarily those of the publisher, editor, writer, writer’s lover, writer’s dog, owner of the web site, writer’s landlord or lady, their Overlords, the U.S. Occupying Forces, the Mongols (Gods Bless the Great Khan, opener of the Gates of China!) or any other partner, real or imaginary, as identified by any means now available or hitherto to be discovered, for All of Eternity, throughout All Space And Time, (not counting Dr. Who’s T.A.R.D.I.S) in any and all multiverses now or to be discovered by the Hubble or whatever follows it, forever and ever, AMEN!
With that out of the way, I can now reveal THE DOCUMENT. Please, for God’s sake, don’t let this get beyond this web site! Human lives are at stake! Namely mine! Oh, and by the way – the punchline is the last two pages. “Mary” is Mary Astadourian, Producer Chris Carter’s secretary. The rest is self-explanatory… come on, you can figure it out from THAT, can’t you? What, you want everything in life served to you on a platter? Sheesh!