Hey Reader, it's your old pal, Clay.

I know you were all waiting with bated breath for my weekly dose of wisdom to grace your inboxes yesterday at 9:00 p.m. EST, sharp.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but I didn't send that email.

Why? Because I wanted to teach you a little something about relying on people.

You see, in this world, you can't rely on nobody.

And that includes me.

I mean, sure, I'm probably the most reliable source of knowledge, guidance, and pure, unbridled masculinity on this godforsaken planet, but even I have my limits.

Let me tell you a story...

Back in '92, I was doing a stint in a Malaysian prison (long story, involved a misunderstanding with a pack of rabid orangutans and a crate of illegal fireworks).

Anyway, my cellmate, a guy named Ricky, promised me he had a foolproof plan to bust us out of that hellhole.

The plan involved a spoon, a rubber band, and a well-trained cockroach named Geraldo.

Ricky swore up and down that Geraldo could carry a message to the outside world, and his cousin Vinnie would come to our rescue.

Now, I know what you're thinking...

A cockroach? Really? But let me tell you, Geraldo was no ordinary insect.

He was a magnificent specimen, with a shiny carapace that gleamed like polished obsidian and antennae that seemed to dance with a life of their own.

From the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew there was something special about this little guy.

Ricky and I spent weeks training Geraldo, teaching him to navigate the complex maze of the prison vents and to avoid the guards' prying eyes.

During those long, sweltering nights in our cell, Geraldo became more than just a means of escape – he became a friend, a confidant, and maybe even something more.

I found myself staying up late, whispering secrets to Geraldo that I had never shared with another living soul.

The way his little feet tickled my skin as he crawled up my arm, the gentle flutter of his wings against my cheek – it stirred something deep inside me...

Something I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

When the big day came, I strapped the message to Geraldo's back and set him free, expecting Vinnie to come barreling through the walls any minute with a getaway car and a trunk full of cold, hard cash.

You know what happened? Absolutely fucking nothing.

Turns out, Ricky was a compulsive liar with a cockroach fetish, and Vinnie was nothing more than a figment of his demented imagination.

I was stuck in that prison for another three years, all because I made the mistake of relying on someone else – and worse, falling for a damn bug.

So, the moral of the story, my dear readers, is that you can't trust anyone in this world. Not your cellmate, not your spouse, and certainly not some sweet-talking cockroach with bedroom eyes and a knack for pushing all the right buttons.

If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.

You gotta be your own cockroach, carrying your own damn message to freedom.

Because in the end, the only person you can truly rely on is yourself.

And me.

Sometimes.

​

Your pal,

Clay