Say 'Uncle'

Hello Dears,

I am writing this note as my last, official will and testament. This morning, in the ridiculous hours of the AM, Miss Ive will board one of these.



And, roughly twenty minutes before take-off, she will be swallowing the legally advised amount of these. Plus two.



And twenty minutes after the flight takes off, she will chase them with one of these. Plus two.



And why, you ask, will your dearest Miss Ive put her body through these excruciating feats and pay no heed to the NATURAL LAWS OF NATURE, which require that she keep both feet firmly on this solid earth? Well, she will tell you why. She will do so in order to get her tired body and mind some much needed rest.



Miss Ive has recently been inspired afresh by her new friends, one in particular, and has decided to ask them to think of her often, and fondly, while she throws caution to the wind and runs off to a place that does not have this.



And even though she will have this. . .



She has been warned that it will get reception only sporadically up on top of the world. Sorry, Mr. Jobs. Everyone has limits. (Stay tuned for Twitters. Miss Ive is diligent. She will climb the highest mountain when Twitter mania sets in.)

And Miss Ive is going to these very great lengths to avoid all distraction, so that she might finish writing this . . .



So that she may earn fistfuls of dollars and buy one of THESE.



So that she may do THIS for the rest of her Scotch-soaked life.



And now that Miss Ive is staring at the concrete image of her life's goal, it is perhaps possible that she has not thought things through in their entirety. It has also, at this very moment, come to her attention that the very crux of her plan rests on a highly suspect and oxy-moronic assumption: Life PLAN. Must up dosage of afore mentioned pharmaceuticals. Plus three.

In keeping with her very stringent deadline and concrete goal, Miss Ive has limited herself to packing only the bare necessities. She will bring one of these.



And one of these.



And only the essentials from her ONE AND ONLY LOVE, J. Peterman Company.

Like this



And this



And just for safe measure, one of these



After all, Miss Ive must, at all costs, maintain anonymity.

Though she will miss you all terribly, she will drive down the mountain whenever possible to check your notes, so please do think of poor Miss Ive and write her a comforting message.

She has scheduled posts for the days she will be gone and, let's just say, she has something scandalous up her Scotch-soaked sleeve. Curious? She will give you one hint as a departing gift. She is, at this very moment, whispering that it has to do with a VERY BIG VOTE that will take place in her city of Detroit and surrounding counties (Macomb and Oakland) on August 5, the very day she has slated for her return, for a dear friend that looks remarkably like this.



And, if you all play along and read each post carefully, following instructions to the 'T,' you will be rewarded by winning a bet which will force poor, ever-modest Miss Ive to appear publicly in something that looks remarkably similar to this. Hand to Heaven. She will do it. Has she ever lied to you?



Post script. If, in any case, Miss Ive's senses get the better of her and she stops and asks herself WHAT IN GOD'S GREEN EARTH she is doing out in the middle of God's green earth, she has decided to designate a safe word between you all and herself. If the word 'UNCLE,' followed by latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates, should happen to appear in Miss Ive's Twitter column, in the upper-right-hand side of this page at any time, please send helicopters and a life-line, STAT. And, if you would be so kind, would you please have them chocked full with plenty of these?



and these



and 17 of these



So, until we meet again, dears. And, don't forget to please, please, please read next week and get the word out about the vote. The Jane Jones Chronicles will begin Monday and run through August 5, the day of the BIG VOTE. This is not Miss Ive's shameless ploy for readership. Okay. Maybe it is. But it is also very, very important to her whiskered friend, in a 'Bridget Jones is lost in the wild' sort of way—so she feels alright about begging. And we all know how slack Miss Ive is in taking up a cause, so just DO IT.

And Miss Ive promises that if, upon her return on August 5, the voting booths are crammed with votes for her dear friend, and all of his other friends, and his home, then she will don one pair of these



and publicly appear in the above illustrated whiskers, tail, and indecent leg exposure.

AND Miss Ive will know if you have passed this link, because she will be up on the top of the world where things like that are visible—and because she will check her 'counter' and it, like Miss Ive, never lies. She has written down a number and sealed it in a vault (read: Scotch-soaked sleeve). If the number on her Visitor Counter tops (Welcome visitors!) that number, she will let you vote, once again when, on August 6, she posts five location and date options, which will all have to fall into this sort of category, per her outfit's 'limitations.'



And because she will need buckets of this before she publicly humiliates herself.



Cheers All! Now pass this on (But not to any known gropers, please—Miss Ive DOES have her standards), and VOTE, DO IT!

Post, post script.

If you would like to request an ADORABLE YARD sign, which Miss Ive HIGHLY recommends, as they come in a selection of COLORS and designs that will only give your home more CURB APPEAL, go here and fill out the info. DO IT. Get a little wild today for the animals. Just do it. Click the link, type in your name and address and where you'd like them to stick the sign (let's keep it clean, people), and hit send. Free delivery. Miss Ive is always a sucker for free delivery—and curb appeal. And hurry, Miss Ive's top-secret, inside source has told her that they are flying out the door. How many yard signs can that be said about?



Post, post, post script.

To all Miss Ive's friends who are working as editors, is this how you would correctly etch "SCOTCH-SOAKED" if you were putting it on one's epitaph? Please respond quickly, as she is chiselling away as she types. Very multi-task-like.