A fan letter

 Sir -- 

I wanted to drop a note of thanks for your contribution to not just the dominant culture but to the dialect, the common cultural patois, the communication of the collective consciousness which comes from and touches our souls and the gestalt memory of our community.

I found myself late this evening lazing on the ersatz chesterfield adorning my parlor feeling a "mite peckish" as the Bard wrote. Living the solitary existence, I spend time oft stretched out, contemplating my childhood -- summers at the Y and a vacation cabin of Lincoln Logs, and I lack the companionship that would provide a steady and exploitable resource of creator and conveyance of comestibles when the pangs set in. I recalled an adventure of the previous even, when a chance encounter with a local butcherman (as he is commonly known in the market square) who presented me with a pre-shaped and seasoned mound of chopped meat for to be baked. It had been so and it sat in the safety of the icebox, awaiting application of heat to bring it back to the land of the edible.

So, sans a spouse for proxy retrieval (and as I am orphaned currently, bereft of parents both lost to the ravages of disease) and reluctant to arise from the repose and comfort furniture oft provides, I arched my back and, without engaging conscious thought, yelled, "Ma, the meatloaf!" And I sputtered a chortle at the inanity of my actions.

Though no delicacies appeared, I did achieve a moment of Zen awareness, looking at myself as if from the outside and realizing that I had somehow eternalized and internalized that creature of your wit and that phrasal child of your mind. You have won my respect and, dare I say, loyalty for your part in shaping my identity and comic field of experience.

So I tip my cap to you and say, "Thank you, Kevin Nealon!"

Sincerely and yours Etc,

Dan