







Hello everyone, this is Gordo Cox posting on behalf of Mr Bigleys. Our true and fearless cult leader has found himself in a bit of a predicament, but asked me to share the following article with you:





To my devout FaHoo readers,

I'm currently in what they refer to as a "Mental Hospital." The whole thing is really just one big misunderstanding. I should be out on in a couple of weeks but will continue to have a Gordo post for me until then.

During the "investigation," police found this poem and are accusing me of writing it. How a poem being on my computer connects me to anything is beyond me. Either way, the prosecutor informed me that they will use it as evidence during the case. Despite this, and against the advice of my legal counsel, I asked if they would allow me to post it on the site because, content.

Again, I did not write this poem, but if I did, I would say it tells a tale of a man locked away in his house with his family. Whoever wrote this has an incredibly elegant way with words and in no way or form would ever actually harm another human being. I can't stress enough that this has nothing to do with my current legal situation, and any parallels drawn are that of complete coincidence. Without further ado, here it is, Everything Is Fine:

(A picture Bigleys sent with the letter)

It's day 89 of the quarantine, and everything is fine.

Grandpa did die, but let's be honest: it was probably his time.

I try not to focus on the negative's, so let's shift to the positive signs:





I developed an alcohol addiction, but I've learned a lot about wine.

The grocery stores are empty, which has helped my waistline.

Schools are out, so no chance of another Columbine.

Yeah…you know what: Maybe everything is fine.

Getting laid off has left me with so much more time,

to focus on myself and learn to unwind.

No job, no drug tests; I can smoke to cloud nine.

This shit's not all that bad; things are pretty sublime.

Toilet paper? Who needs it? I live life on the edge (radical hand sign).

To be honest, the hose has really shifted my post poop paradigm.

No longer are there dingleberries in this spotless behind.

See, I was only overreacting; everything is divine.

There's been time's when this confine has put my mental health in a steep decline

But I was able to meet my imaginary girlfriend, and our personalities align.

After 1 week of dating, I introduced her to my parents, "This is Caroline."

But I was only met with looks as though I was completely asinine.

I know they are skeptical and keep calling her a "clear psychotic sign."

I wish they wouldn't say things like that about my valentine…

Love isn't a word they can exclusively define.

Here come's another imaginary relationship they try to undermine.

I tried cheering Caroline up and asked: "What can I do, sunshine?"

Out of anger, she told me to slip my parent's turpentine.

"That's dramatic, my parents will come around - just give it time."

But now, when I ask her what's wrong, she only responds, "I'm fine."





Girls...Am I right? Crazy by design...

Although my dad does love the show, Dateline…

Tempting…I mean, the girl is a dime…

But murder is probably crossing the line….

"Yeah, I can't believe she asked me to do that either, you dodged a landmine.

What's that? Yeah, mom, it's supposed to taste like pine.

That's just the earthy flavor you get in all red wine.

Sip up, stop worrying, everything is fine."











