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February Blog Carnival Part 2

February 14, 2009

This silly break up letter was composed by finding two names through Wikipedia’s “random article” feature. Because of this, Mark Vaughan will be breaking up with Martin Skancke.*

Dearest Martin,

It’s been nearly six months since we last saw each other.  My travel schedule has been intense, and I know that work has been incredibly busy for you.  I am doing very well. Ever since last October, when I won the Dublin Senior Football Championship medal, I’ve practically been mobbed every time I step onto the street. This is some of the reason for the lessening frequency of my emails to you.  The rest is a bit dodgy, so I’ll save it for the end. I’m sure that you’ve been just as busy as I have. I saw you in the news recently, but the broadcast was in Russian, so I just watched your beautiful face for about five minutes while I ate some ice cream. As you know, us footballers adore Rocky Road ice cream.

My shoulder is feeling a bit better, though it is still sore on rainy days. My coach still doesn’t know that I reinjured it during a romp with you, rather than during a game, as I told him. The old bugger wouldn’t know a lie if one hit him in the face, which it occasionally does. My therapist says that I’ve gotten over blaming you for the reinjury, and that I am making significant progress with that trouble about the avocados. As you could guess, I’m thrilled.

The real reason for my email isn’t just to catch up, however. I’m sure you must have known this was coming if you’ve paid any attention to my Twitter page or to the tabloids. Yes, it’s true. I’ve been seeing someone else. Her name is Rebecca Hall and she’s an American singer. Yes, an American. From Boston, no less. We met when she visited Dublin to perform with her husband. I know, I know. Married women are a terrible idea. Regardless, I am in love, and even better (or worse, I suppose, as you insist upon being practical), she’s pregnant! I’m finally going to have a child. Of course, there is all that mess with her husband to negotiate (it appears that he doesn’t read British tabloids, and as such is clueless), but we have high hopes.

I know how you are likely to take this, and I am truly sorry. The secrecy of our relationship has finally gotten to me, and lately I’ve also begun to get desperate for a child. This accident with Bec was really a miracle, as far as I’m concerned. Her husband is a real wanker, doesn’t do much of anything other than play World of Warcraft and complain about the neighbors. I really feel like I can do better for her, and I know that you will be fine without me. You have always been so strong, and anyway, there’s always Ken. I’ve long known that you two are close, and I’m sure he’ll be there for you now.

In any case, I don’t want to leave things on a bad note. I’ve included a pair of tickets to my next game, please come if you can. They’re quite good seats, really. Don’t forget all of the good times that we’ve had, and know that if my son is a boy, I intend to name him after you. Skancke will be a great name, I think.

All my love,


P.S. Oh, and did you see that record I sent? Smashing, huh?

*Just to save myself a slander lawsuit, I should point out that I know neither of these gentlemen, and that this letter is fictional from start to finish and that the only true facts in it are those I lifted from Wikipedia.

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