Why, hello there favorite show of all time.

Ode to Neil Cicierega

O (that’s Ecphonesis) Neil, how I love you.
You know it is true.
I find you quite genius
And terminally cute.
I’m fond of your quirkiness.
I adore your sweet nose.
In my dreams every night,
I kneel at your toes.
When summer arrives
I hope to visit your state
And then you will know of me
And feast off my plate (of love)
There are so many things I wish I could ask you
Like “How do you feel about marriage?”
And if besides the word spiffy do you like askew?
But sometimes I worry….
Will you ever find out? Will you love me someday?
Or will your vision remain blurry?
Neil, I want you to know,
I’m not just any ordinary fangirl.
I’m aware you are as precious as sea monkeys,
Or a room filled with pearls.
You must find me out.
I will make you a vow,
My love is for life!
And you must know this…but how?

Neil…There is only one way to truly show you the depth of my feeling, my ardor, for you. It is an eternal gift, one that will last forever, and allow us to be together without the judgment of the people around us. We are the enlightened ones. I will show you how I am devoted to you. All this, will be proved through a varied assortment of lemon desserts. I am a true believer, and I know the things that all true believers should. In fact, I am quite sure that I have gathered more intelligence on the magnificent subject that is you, than any other being of my situation. Therefore, I know where to seek you out to fulfill the finest details of my proposal. I shall travel by car to your residence in the charming town of Kingston, Massachusetts. I shall tread carefully. The place of your birth is blessed ground. I know that you are a late sleeper, and although it shall pain me to disturb the angelic serenity of your sleeping form, I shall arrive at your home in the early hours of the morning and knock gently upon your window. Your bed is positioned alongside a window, am I correct? I’m aware that you will be a tad startled to find an unfamiliar girl standing outside watching you sleep, but I will be able to put you at ease. I’ll motion for you to meet me at the front door, holding up a lemon meringue pie and smiling nervously. You are a kind person; you will take pity on the poor, love-struck girl in yellow. Perhaps, if I prove to be one of the chosen, you’ll invite me into the fabled House of Cicierega, as I offer the pie, shuffling my feet from side to side. You cannot blame me Neil, I have found myself in your presence, and it’s so difficult not to be overwhelmed. But I have confidence in my ability to bake, and such a scrumptious lemon pie is too irresistible to be ignored. Once again, you’ll be amazed at the savory flavors playing your taste buds like a piccolo. You may offer me some of the pie, but I will decline. I must impress upon you the extreme importance that no one in your family must eat the pie besides you. I’ll tell you how devastated I would be if it was digested in any stomach besides yours. After all, I made it with abounding love for you, and you alone. You might give me one of the looks that say “I fear you” as so many of the unenlightened ones have given me. Over time, this look will pass. But no, I’m getting ahead of myself. I will leave you, and you will return to bed with curiosity about the memorable visitor you had, taking the pie with you and secreting it in your room as I had requested. This sunrise will be an unusual one for you. As will the next. It will happen in a similar fashion, although the desert will be a golden yellow Lemon Sponge Pudding. And so it will continue everyday for a month. Lemon Coconut Bars, Lemon Cherry Cheesecake, Lemon Ricotta Cake, Lemon Lattice Biscuits, Lemon Poppy Seed Tarts. You’ll find yourself waiting for me in the mornings, looking forward to seeing me. An unnatural excitement will bubble up inside you every time I rap my fingers on your window. I’ll sit and watch as you gorge yourself on the confection before you, and I’ll take the empty dish from the day before as I leave. You won’t sleep well. You lose weight, despite the large amounts of sugar you’re eating every morning. You’ll be anxious, and depressed when I’m not with you, and you’ll do your best to hide it from your circle of family and friends. They might notice you are more focused on your art than usual, but nothing more. Some of your best work will be created in the first two weeks of our, unconventional acquaintance. But this time will end sooner than I want it to. It’s been a dream made real to see your face light up every morning when you looked at me. But all good things come to an end. And on that day, the 30th of the month, the leaded dish that contained your amphetamine-laced Snowy Lemon Bars included a higher dose than usual. You easily strolled down your front walk with me to my car, and hazily called for shotgun. Of course, you got it. I’d give you everything you ever want, Neil, including a trip to Disney Land. So that’s where we headed, down the coast, to the sunny state of Florida. And although they’re more well-known for oranges, quite a few lemons are grown there as well. I am well-prepared. I called ahead to the realtors and webmasters of the site www.sellmeflorida.com and used my entire bank account to put a down payment on a house in Grove City, located on Lemon Bay. The house is a quaint one, and it even has a healthy lemon tree thriving in the backyard. I was very specific about that. By now of course, you have recovered from your amphetamine induced stupor, and are more than a little worried about where we are. I tell you it was a surprise, because we won’t be able to be together for much longer, and I thought we could take a little trip. I tell you it’s only for a few days. You’re satisfied, and completely mollified as soon as you see the Tupperware in the backseat is filled with lemon pastry of all sorts. I take you inside and show you your room, which is equipped with a computer, keyboard, and a vase of blooming lemon tree branches. It’s cozy. I show you around the rest of the house, which is old and historical, but well-maintained. The location is ideal, on the outskirts of town, and set back from the road, so we can barely hear the passing traffic. I suggest you should go and take a nap, while I make dinner. After such a long ride, you must be tired. As soon as you’re snoring daintily, I remove the glass jar of Latrodectus bishopi, red widow spiders I hand picked from a nearby lemon tree, from my purse, open the lid, and look on as they crawl across your skin. You twitch, and they bite. I’m ready with my bottle of lemon juice, and squirt some onto every bite I see. You wake up and wince from the stinging feeling penetrating your dreams. You ask me what I’m doing, and I answer, the tears rolling down my face. “Neil,” I tell you. “I’m sending you to a better place. The pain will end, and you will be welcomed with open arms. The more suffering we all go through on earth, the more gracious our reception in the afterlife.” Leaving the spiders to do their jobs, I tearfully exit the room, with you yelling after me. I lock the door. But I’ve left a note. It tells you, that however much I’d like you to be addicted to my cooking and company, it’s really the bottle of Amphetamine on your dresser that I picked up in a pharmacy on the drive that holds your affections. I don’t expect you to be able to resist it for long, your addiction will get the better of you. Also, I inform you that all the paint and dust in your room is infected with lead, as is your blood, considering the dishes I used to bake your pies. You scream my name, and look around for a way to break out, but there are no heavy objects in the room with you, and no windows to smash. There are only the pills. Time passes, and eventually, your body craves the relief that the dose of Amphetamine will give. You swallow half the bottle, figuring I’ll never let you out anyway. Your drug saturated bloodstream alters your thought process, and you move to investigate the previously ignored lemon branches, still sitting in the vase on your dresser. You reach out to touch them, and the thorns scratch your precious skin. It’s a bizarre feeling, and although it hurts, it almost makes you feel refreshed, new. Like waking up after a long sleep. You don’t realize the damage you’re doing to yourself as you scrape the thorns along your arm. Drops of your blood burn hot, scarlet paths down your sides and splash onto the floor. You barely notice. You’re not suicidal, you’re delirious. Drugged to within an inch of your life. It’s a beautiful, heartbreaking spectacle. Hours later, I’ll return to find you lying on the floor of your room. Your body could no longer withstand the effects of the lead poisoning, the anorexia it brought you, the blood loss, and the overdose of amphetamine. It was too weak, it simply shut down. I’ll gently wipe the blood from your face and hands, brush the hair from your face, and lift you onto the computer chair. Rolling you into the backyard, I’ll gently lift you from the chair into the specially-made casket of lemon wood. I painted it a deep red, as the mark of the true Lemon Demon. I have ropes lying ready for me to lower it into the hole that was the fruit of my effort during your last hours. The branches of the lemon tree cast a wavering, lacey shadow upon the dirt that fell in clumps onto the wood encasing your body; the lemon tree that gave its thorny twigs for the vase on your dresser. I will spend the days I have left sitting in its shade, singing. Singing to you Neil. Singing of your death by lemons.