Dear Marvel,
I hope this letter finds you well. I hear you are turning 70, so congratulations.
As you know, you have been a great friend to me over the years, first meeting as we did at Floppy Tongue Comics. And despite the odd mood swing and spot of financial trouble, you’ve been entertaining company, with your tendency to dimension hop, teleport, kill, resurrect, clone, fight, twist, turn, shock and chuckle rarely failing to keep me amused. Shallow bugger that I am, I’ve always been pleased that you managed to keep your looks too, no matter what it cost.
Sadly, though, I fear our friendship is at an end. Recent decisions to unceremoniously murder, alter, contort and shatter have cut deep. I see now that you are no longer the person you once were, and because of this I can no longer trust you. I understand that you must have your reasons but I can’t approve, nor can I stand idly by as your misguided relationship with Jeph strengthens. I strongly believe that he has been a bad influence on you and I believe that he has deliberately sought to sour our friendship. What’s more, some of your recent behaviour has felt like a betrayal, and that’s difficult to come to terms with.
Naturally, I was delighted to discover that your recent move to Hollywood has gone well and it’s always nice to learn that your interests in TV and memorabilia remain strong. I sometimes worry, though, that I might not recognise you in, say, the dim lights of the cinema leaving me to long for the way things used to be.
Of course, I don’t expect you to change your ways, but I didn’t want you to worry about me as I suspect it will be a long while before we meet again.
Excelsior,
A reader
PS. Ultimatum sucks
