Dear Aunt Sandra,
So this Thank You card is something my mom's been on me to do for awhile (you know what she's like). I kept telling her I was saving up things to be thankful for so I could get them all in on a single card. "Mom!" I yelled. "Efficiency!" But she didn't listen. I don't know what happened during your childhood that made her hate efficiency so much. Did an industrial robot abuse you? Or did you just have a German nanny or something?
But although I ultimately succumbed to her nagging, I did hold her off for a while. What is it, May now? Anyways, I now have the privilege of presenting to you, in the name of efficiency and procrastination, a Thank You card that covers multiple items of thanks-giving. That's why the writing is so small, incidentally; I owed you more thanks than the greeting card industry is really capable of supporting. Sounds like a business opportunity to me, but this isn't a Solicitation for Venture Capital card, so I guess I'll get on with the thanks-giving.
I've gone into the reasoning for this above -- re: laziness, lack of thought -- and won't reiterate that here. I'd also like to thank you for not being upset at my presumptuousness, for daring to suggest that you're not upset about this at all. Considering your character -- pleasant and easy-going -- I suspected I could get away with this, and considering my character -- magnificent asshole -- we probably both suspected I'd try.
This is kind of obvious, isn't it? Thanking people for Christmas gifts is just so done, isn't it? So obvious that it must sound insincere. And I guess I'm not really wanting to disguise that. The shirt you got me had its merits, I suppose. It was ... something good, something ... sleeved? It had sleeves. That's a good feature shirts should have, and it did that, completely successfully. My other thoughts on the shirt sort of go downhill from there, but this isn't a Criticism card, so I won't go into those here.
Little known to Westerners, Criticism cards are extremely popular in Asian families.
(Just as a reference, in case it helps your Christmas shopping in the future, the check for $30 I received from Aunt Janice was, to me, $30 more thanks-worthy than the shirt. Thirty dollars has such a tremendous amount of flexibility built into it, in that it can become a shirt that I would actually like to wear, or become 60 cans of Milwaukee's Best Ice, which is what happened in this particular case. Even more flexible than $30 is $40, or even $50. (This trend keeps on continuing, thanks to the properties of integers.) I don't want to stoke the flames of any sibling rivalry here, nor suggest that I might ride that wave to a future of better Christmas presents, but if that happens, I guess I'd benefit quite well, so maybe I do want to do that.)
It shows true class to loan that kind of money to your nephew when he shows up on your doorstep unannounced on a mid-February afternoon, especially when that nephew can't even be bothered to get his Thank You cards out on time. Also, thank you for asking few questions of me at the time -- your pleasant, easy-going nature came in very handy there. I barely even had to try implying I needed the money for rent or perhaps for a school of some sort.
Why, why, why didn't I put this first, you're probably wondering? Such an obviously bigger deal than the Christmas present, especially considering how loathsome that stupid thing was. But, as discussed, my mom would go gorillas on me if I didn't at least mention the shirt, and considering I could either work up to the kidney thanksgiving or down from it, I thought working up to it would lend the card a nice sense of rising tension. "When is this asshole going to mention the kidney I gave him?" I imagined you screaming in frustration earlier in this card.
This asshole is thanking you right here. Thanks for giving me that kidney.
Huge, huge ups for the kidney, Aunt Sandra.
This barely warrants thanks; really, I'd think you'd be thankful. Who wouldn't be thankful to get a desperately needed kidney? I know I sure was! Ha ha ha!
What this does warrant, however, is an explanation, and because there's no real market for Grave Explanation cards, it will have to slot in here on my ManyThanks card. It turns out that the money I borrowed from you, although definitely originally meant for rent or a school of some sort, did not get spent on that. Due to a financial mix-up, caused by ... I'm going to blame the 2008 credit crisis, that money instead got spent on 600 cans of Milwaukee's Best Ice.
The people at Milwaukee's Best actually sent me a Thank You card after that.
What happened to the 600 cans of Milwaukee's Best Ice is still a little unclear to me. The only thing I do know is that eight days later, all the cans were gone, and I had a headache and a "hurt kidney" feeling. This walking death sensation lasted for several days, by which point my friend, Sketchy Greg, suggested that I might have destroyed my kidneys. I was inclined to trust him; Sketchy Greg had extensive hands-on experience with the effects of Milwaukee's Best Ice, and had also completed two years of pre-med.
(Later I'd find out that "two years of pre-med" is way less impressive than it sounds, especially when it's because he was forcefully told to not return for any further years of pre-med. The way he describes it, it sounds like even I have four years of pre-med, and I'm still not 100 percent sure where babies come from.)
They happen when the man inseminates the lady's kidneys, right?
Anyways, fearing for my life, it was right around here when I contacted you, my favorite pushover of an aunt, to ask for one of your kidneys, and why I so forcefully got up in your grill about it.
By some funny coincidence, I started feeling better on the exact same day the surgery was scheduled, and then kind of hummed and hawed for the next two hours or so, trying to make up my mind whether to go through with the thing. When I finally decided to pull the handbrake on the whole scheme, I found out that they had already pulled the kidney out of you, and that a lot of doctors were now very livid.
On the plus side, Sketchy Greg tells me that putting a kidney back in someone after 40 minutes is no big deal, which is something I think we can all be thankful for.
Even with willing, related donors, it takes a huge amount of paperwork to organize an organ transplant, and somehow that paperwork was completed to the satisfaction of your doctors without in any way involving an actual doctor on my side. I can only imagine the concern you must feel about how this came to pass, a concern possibly elevated by the question of how my associate Sketchy Greg earned his nickname.
The lawyer who's helping me draft this is already pretty antsy about this whole Thank You card thing, and has insisted I not go into the details here. Suffice it to say, without admitting any guilt, I am thankful that you do not think what I did constitutes fraud, personal injury, medical malpractice or a violation of veterinarian law (Sketchy Greg also completed two years of pre-vet). I should point out, in a backhanded way that will satisfy my lawyer, that in a small way, you should probably be thanking me a bit, for having the courage and strength of will to put a stop to Sketchy Greg's original plan, which would have left you waking up, a kidney missing, in a bathtub full of Milwaukee's Best Ice.
I would have of course left a Thank You card placed on the side of the tub.
For more Bucholz, check out Online Dating Strategies and 5 Romantic Ways To Get Revenge on That Special Someone .
Just what is it that makes funny people stop being funny for a living?
Being a household name doesn't exactly make someone a role model.
Trends among women trigger a level of contempt that's way beyond what is deserved.