A fan fiction in the form of a letter from Charlie to Jake, describing how he escaped from the attempt on his life by Rose and what he is currently up to. This was first published in my blog titled 'The Tourist Biker's Blog'. Do check out my blog later!
Hey little rascal, wassup? I don't really know about what is happening out there in Malibu. You people may have already heard about my unexpected 'death', from Rose. I wonder how many showed up for my funeral.
Listen up kid, I'm alive and well. When I went to Paris with Rose, I thought I was really in love with her and proposed her to marry me. That same evening, Gorden sent me an email revealing the real identity of Rose's husband Mr. Manny. (Only she could move him, my ass!) I wonder if Gorden thought of saving me out of the generous tips I gave for the pizzas he delivered, or out of his rekindled love for Rose. If it's the latter, boy I pity him, because that chick is crazy!
I wanted a permanent way out of her stalking. I felt that this time it won't be easy letting her down. She was already making plans about which preschool we should enroll Charlie Harper Jr. While she went out, I called my pimp in Paris and arranged for a hooker. I let the door open, and deliberately let Rose find the two of us in the shower. I just wanted to avoid the talk and get her off my hair by making her dump me.
She was awfully quiet after catching me in the act. If there is anything that my history with Rose has taught me, it's that there would definitely be consequences to the actions you do to her. (Also, keep her away from super-glue!) When we were waiting in the metro station, I saw that familiar look in her eyes that meant she was about to do something crazy. As the train was about to pass by, she pushed me in front of it. I rolled across the rail and missed the train by a whisker. I was saved without even a scratch. I wish I could say the same about the drunk hobo who fell on the track at the same instant, but from the other side. He just exploded like a balloon full of meat. Before the train fully passed the station, I got into the opposite platform and ran for my life.
Later, when I bribed one of the authorities, I found out that Rose had already shed out a huge amount of money to the people concerned, so that the CCTVs at the station would get cut off during her attempt at my life. I couldn't believe my luck. No one there noticed the drunk hobo falling and mistook his body pieces to be mine. Since there was no CCTV footage to prove that I had escaped, it was a chance to start a fresh life away from the clutches of Rose.
Now, I am living the dream in Paris. You know how much I loved Malibu and my beach house. But I did one better here and bought a beach house on a frigging nude beach! I can't disclose my exact location for the fear of my life. You know Jake how I always wanted to be a great musician instead of writing jingles. I think I finally found my scene here in Paris. I will now give a shot at being a real musician. The city is very appreciative of artists and I might just catch a break!
Remember, you are the only one in the world who knows that I am alive, and I want to leave it that way. You can't ever say a word about any of this to anyone. We won't be seeing each other for a while, and I wouldn't risk contacting you again. Destroy this letter as soon as you have finished reading it. If you ever study well and get into college, choose Paris for your college trip and you can crash here with your friends. Don't worry about finding me. I will write again by that time.
Now, the table that I'm writing this letter on is getting really ticklish. I should now tend to its wobbling. I'm sure you will love the smell of this letter.
À la prochaine,
Your Uncle Charlie.
Disclaimer: This is a fan fiction based on the show 'Two And A Half Men'. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.