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You know that weird feeling you get when you’ve been out of the office for a week, and then the day you get back it’s eerie because no one seems to be coming in and you’re pretty sure it’s not a holiday, and in every room there’s the faint smell of rotting garbage and since it’s in every room you think, shit, maybe that’s me, but before you can check you fucking curse to hell that goddamned hotel they’re building next door because what is that intense smashing sound!? rhythmically driving you into a fucking frenzy and before you can even finish this sentence you’re more than positive you’ve lost your fucking mind and are you serious!, I can actually feel the thumping shaking my chair and though it’s gradually slowing down it’s getting heavier like they’ve just about completely destroyed whatever the fuck it is and it’s just a few. more. smashes. into. the ground.
Well, one person just called out sick, but what about the other four? Oh. Here they are. And even the FedEx guy has arrived! What’s this? A package to me!? A package to me… from me? How the? What do you think it is, Charlie? Small, but with considerable weight. Hmm. I’ve checked the date, and unfortunately it’s not from the future, so whatever’s inside will definitely not reveal who I’ll marry, when I’ll die, or at what point humanity will eventually implode in on itself. Nor will it be an almanac containing horse racing results. Jesus, what could it be? What could I possibly give myself that I haven’t already thought to give myself? And why did I ship it priority overnight? What could be so important?
Anyway, I’d better finish your letter before I open it. Just wanted to let you know that I read an article about the Internet Radio petitions. The ones you tried to have me call my congressmen about. Turns out it had some minor effect. Temporarily delaying any sort of legislature until a fair compromise on royalties can be agreed upon maturely by both sides of the debate. Good work, citizen!