Dear Right Honourable Gentleman Mr. Motzko,

It’s been months, but it feels like years! Oh, how DHS and the Flipside yearns for your guidance. The Flipside staff beg you, please release us from this parasocial decline into madness. We have but one humble entreaty: O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this school, as is a winged messenger of heaven.

Who could forget the times we spent together, memories of our labs in bio are forever etched into our minds (seriously, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to erase the images of dissected Ascaris lumbricoides from my brain without a complete lobotomy). We’ve assessed the effects of variable salinity on Artemia salina hatch rates and the effects of transposons on phenotypic expression in Zea mays, but it would seem we could not assess the effects of our own cacophonous cries on your willingness to reply.

Make no mistake, the Flipside longs for the day when an email with your name appears in our inbox. In your absence, we’ve tried so hard to get your attention. At this point, even the local college recruiters are impressed at how many of our emails to you have not been read. In fact, Poor Noah has been running around, organising Grateful Dead reunions just for a chance to spot you in the crowd—it was COVID that finally put a stop to that because we sure as hell couldn’t.

Might you be so kind as to entertain the idea of giving us your Skype? Or your WhatsApp ID? Or do you prefer to only communicate via Xbox Live? We’ve already tried to send carrier pigeons, must we restart the Pony Express too? No matter, I am willing to install a DSL modem at your office free of charge just so we can hear your voice again. Understand, we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to ensure your voice can be heard here at the Flipside. Against the wishes of my lawyer, we will resort to submitting a subpoena just to see your face again.

I’ve failed my chem test, got passed around on Tinder by a bunch of goths, and my career as an Instagram “influencer” has been anything but successful. I’m almost certain the TSA has put me on a list…somewhere. As a matter of fact, there are ATF agents outside of my house right now. What would you do Mr. Motzko? Please answer my prayers.

I’m sorry, but we’ve forgotten the story of Michel Lotito—re-enlighten us! We need Ask Mr. Motzko back. This is as much a request as it is a question: why haven’t you responded to us? Please, Mr. Motzko, how could we ever navigate the tribulations of highschool without your guidance?

The Green Lab Partner

The Green Lab Partner
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