
Dearest Daphne,
Itâs Fred. Fred Jones. Or, as you may remember me: Sweetie Pie; Your Little Freddy Bear; Smarty Marty Mystery Pants; or more recently, Defendant in Your Preposterous and Ultimately Dismissed Petition For a Restraining Order. I am writing you on Facebook because my letters, phone calls, and emails have gone unanswered. In fact, Iâm starting to wonder if youâre even checking DaphneDoodles@prodigy.com at all anymore. But itâs OK. Iâm sure your new life with Evan is keeping you really busy. As my message concerns Facebook, it seems that this is a fitting forum for our discussion.
First off, let me say that Iâm happy you seem to be doing so well. I really am. I see from your timeline that you took my advice and went back to school, which is great! Congratulations! Admittedly, Iâd hoped you might study one of the passions we shared, such as crime scene investigation or pottery throwing, but Iâm sure becoming an x-ray technician will be just as fulfilling. From what I gather, it is a fast-paced and constantly growing field! At least it seems that way when they do x-ray stuff on NCIS. I also noticed that youâve recently âLikedâ snowboarding, The Allman Brothers, and The Wire — all things I encouraged you to try when we were dating. And now that youâre with Evan, I guess youâre really into them. So funny! But itâs cool. You know your Freddy Bear — as long as youâre happy, Iâm happy. Iâve been dating a bunch myself actually, meeting some really cool people. Iâve learned a lot about myself, itâs really been an amazing journey. So I guess weâre both doing really well!
Iâm writing today to see if perhaps youâd consider posting pictures of you and Evan a little less frequently. I mean, like I said, Iâm really happy for you, I totally am. Weâve both moved on, and thatâs GREAT. It just seems like youâre posting five or six new photos everyday. You and Evan at the beach! You and Evan at the movies! You and Evan taking ballroom dancing classes! (Which I also asked you to do when we were together, but whatever.) It kinda seems like youâre trying to make a point. Like: âHey Fred! I have a new life now, so you can stop calling me, and sending me caramels on my birthday, and being really sweet and considerate!â And thatâs fine, Daph. Because I have a new life too. I repainted the Mystery Machine. I hardly ever wear Bell Bottoms anymore. I even stopped hanging out with Shaggy (who you should totally call by the way, because heâs going through some serious shit). But itâs a super bummer to go on Facebook every morning and see you with a new guy, rubbing my face in it. A super duper bummer.
I mean, some of your posts are clearly meant to hurt me. I know what youâre thinking, âOh, paranoid Fred, losing his mind like usual.â But Iâm not paranoid, Daphne. I wasnât paranoid when I said Mr. Caruthers was the one haunting the old ski lodge, or that Mayor Wimbleby was dressing up as Bigfoot to drum up interest in his abandoned gold mine, or that Velma was super into chicks, and Iâm not paranoid now. In most of your Facebook photos, Evan is wearing an ascot. Which Iâm pretty sure is a dig at me, because he doesnât really seem like an ascot kinda guy. Also, he wrote âAssholeâ on it, which you donât need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce is meant to be an insult. Additionally, I noticed several photos of you guys kissing that were tagged with âSuck it, Fred Jonesâ at 2 a.m. one night, and then quickly untagged twenty minutes later, hoping that I wouldnât notice. Well, you gotta get up pretty early in the morning to fool me, Daphne Blake. Actually, at about 1:59, as it happens. But youâve really hurt me this time, and I want it to stop. I could unfriend you, but Iâd like to think weâre better than that. This isnât just personal anymore, your behavior is starting to affect my business.
In four separate incidents last month, you changed your status to âScooby is the One Who Solved All The Mysteries. Fred Spent All Day Flirting and Fixing His Hair.â And that is just bullcrap. I mean, letâs get real, Daphne. First of all, my hair looks like this naturally and requires no fixing. You know that. Second, Scooby is a fucking dog. A dog who, Iâm pretty sure, smokes a ton of pot. So how exactly did he became an ace detective all of a sudden? Sure, the marijuana is impressive on a functional level… I mean, he has to acquire the weed somehow (using God knows what for currency), light it, hold it up to his snout, and inhale, all with his gigantic paws and a level of intelligence that, letâs be honest, even for a canine seems alarmingly low. Or maybe Shaggyâs just blowing smoke in his face all day, I donât know. But the point is, while Scoobyâs ability to sustain a chronic drug habit is quite a feat for an animal, it doesnât speak particularly well for his ability to SOLVE FUCKING MYSTERIES, DAPHNE. Giving him credit is asinine. And insulting. Clearly I was the brains of the operation. Velma is smart, but sheâs insecure and easily distracted by anything with tits and a skirt. Shaggy is an Intervention episode without the uplifting last ten minutes, and that leaves you and me. And letâs be honest, Daphne, you are a lot of things. Fashionable, a spirited dancer, even surprisingly generous in bed — but Hercule Poirot you are not. Iâm the one who solved the cases Daphne, and Iâm asking you to state that plainly on your page. It will help give me closure. And boost business. I havenât had a case in months. No abandoned theme parks, no secret underground lairs, not even a spooky old mansion. Before the gang split up we used to have haunted mansions coming out of our asses! I havenât been called a Meddling Kid since 2011, Daph. And itâs killing me inside, it really is.
In closing, Iâd just like to say, one last time, that Evan isnât good enough for you. Heâs dragging you down, Daph, he really is. So after you take down the pictures and insults, I would totally love to have coffee and talk. Just as friends. I get that now. Unless it leads to something more, which Iâd be totally cool with.
Alright, bye for now.
Fred
P.S. Also, tell Evan that Omar dies in the end. Whoâs the asshole now, Ev!?
P.P.S Let me know about that coffee.