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If I were to write a letter to Mike Rowe, but didn't.

If I were to write a letter to Mike Rowe, someone whose body of filthy work and push for the elbow grease arts I greatly appreciate, it would look a bit like this:

Dear Mr. Rowe,

I was at my nearby Big Box store recently to purchase a new toilet brush. The holidays had their ups and downs, you see.

After fighting through the snow-covered parking lot where the painted lines no longer existed and it was every man for himself with ever-increasing vehicle insurance premiums, I felt that simply running in to get the brush and then leaving so soon didn’t properly honor the battle I’d just gone through to park my vehicle. So I began to wander through the store.

In the book section, I found your book, The Way I Heard It. Full of short and interesting stories, I realized it was the perfect book to put on the little rack next to the toilet. I come from a family of readers, and there’s no sense wasting any time just sitting around if you can do a bit of reading. I’d already completed last year’s Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader and was looking to go a bit more upscale for 2023.

Of all the authors in the world, I imagine none of this offends you. Your book, the after thought of a toilet brush, with both items to be placed next to a toilet.

Thank you for your excellent writing.




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