Letter from 2004 to 2005

Alright kid, sit down and listen, there's a few things you should probably know before you get things rolling and we only have ten seconds or so until the ball drops and it's your turn. Oh, by the way, think twice about felling Dick Clark for this, because they might just let Regis have a go at it and it might just be the most boring New Year's Eve ever. I gotta apologize for that first off. It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know? Sometimes you just don't know a good thing until it's gone. Now my own year ends lamely, but what can you do...

Alright, here we go, last ten seconds. Wake up a little, will you Regis? Christ. Anyway! First order of business in the year, make sure there's a great big snowstorm somewhere in America. The colder the better, so everyone really gets their panties in a wad. This'll get them going, you know? The people, I mean. They'll be calling it the storm of the year because they don't have an original thought in their heads. This'll lead on to reports about the high cost of heating oil and frankly, after that the year will almost run itself. Oh sure, you could do something interesting and have oil and gas prices drop, but to be honest I didn't work in any framework for that in 2004 so you'll have to really work to make that happen.

Second off, war in Iraq: don't touch it. The big boys have that all set for 2007, just follow the plans they faxed you. Besides, you're gonna have enough excitement on your hands with Russia. P.S., don't tackle that one until late summer at the earliest.

Oh, hey, have you got your three inane murder trials all lined up? Great. All white females as victims, right? That one's really important.

I think that's really all there's time to go over...oh, one more thing. People are gonna attach themselves to you in a big way. It's just a mind thing, you know? 2005 is an attractive number. Mature but not too far into a decade no one ever thought they'd see.

I think you'll do fine, kid. Let me tell you, I wish 2003 had given me this kind of consideration. Some words of advice or a vote of confidence. Anything, you know? The big boys wouldn't even talk to me until a couple months ago. I don't know, maybe they just don't like me. You're gonna find a lot of people who say that in this coming year, I think. That I was the "Year of the Asshole" or something like that. Just remember me like I am now. That's all I ask. I had my reasons for doing what I did. Maybe if anyone ever thought to f'ing talk to me they'd know what those reasons were.

Here we go! 2...1...I'm out!

Letter from The Kringles

Dear Friends,

Merry Christmas! (And Happy Hanukkah, Goldenmeyers.) We have had a productive and wonderful year up here at The North Pole and I just can't wait to tell you all about it!

By the time you read this, Kris is probably zipping around up there in the night sky, spreading joy and reindeer droppings all over the world, bringing toys to all the good little boys and girls. If you see him and those nine snorting terrors, be sure to say hello! He's very busy, but he's as needy as any other man. And don't you dare let him have any of those cookies! Kris has been having a lot of trouble processing sugar as of late and we certainly don't want to exacerbate his condition, do we? Be good for goodness sake!

One thing I'm absolutely chomping at the bit to tell you about is the Orbital Christmas Asteroid that Santa and the elves have been working on all year! POL-1 is currently in drydock in high orbit around the Earth and we are proud to announce that construction is ahead of schedule and we fully expect to meet this year's quota of 70% completion! POL-1 is a state of the art gift manufacturing and distribution facility that will be able to disseminate (Don't worry, it's not a bad word. I've just been playing more Scrabble!) presents all over the world from the all-reaching height of space! The elves have been working day and night on the station, and aside from some unfortunate losses due to sudden explosive decompression, there's been nary a bump in the road!

For the first time ever, it will be possible for the elves to forego their yearly Christmas Eve vacation, as they will be responsible for manning POL-1's vast array of cannon banks! Firing presents at lightning speeds and with precision aim, the elves will fire all sorts of Christmas joy into the homes of all those on the Nice list. All those on the Naughty list will receive a plentiful amount of coal from those same cannons, you can be sure. (Especially those godless Iraqis. Such crass manners in the face of liberation.)

For the first time in...well, ever...Kris will be able to take the night off and no longer will I have to face the happiest night of the year alone. I am very much looking forward to this, as I am convinced that this stress is why Kris and I have not been able to conceive. (We have been trying, you can be sure of that. Though a child seems to be the one present Santa cannot bring.)

But we are all in good health and want for nothing else, so one must be ever-thankful for that. The elves remain productive, hearty, and non-unionized. The reindeer spend their days and nights frisking gaily in the Candy Cane Forest while Frosty is happy in silent, hatless contemplation. Occasionally the Polar Express will arrive ferrying a young boy or girl who has lost faith in my dear dear Santa, but they are soon stripped of this notion, given puddings, and sent on their way.

(Dear me, I just had a thought. With the completion of the asteroid nearing this may very well be the last year we see the train. I must prepare an extra holly jolly reception for them this year.)

I'm afraid I'll have to go now. The elves have just topped off my goblet of egg nog and the night is still young. From Santa and I, we wish you all the very merriest Christmas!

Sincerely,

Mr. & Mrs. Claus

Letters from Children to Christopher Walken

Special edition! Thanks to Metafilter for this piece of pure gold. Holiday Letters To Christopher Walken.

Letter from a Self-Marooned Author

(To be released in Real Live Book form soon.)

Letter from the Sad Puppy Society

(To be released in Real Live Book form soon.)

Letter from The Afterlife

It was quite a shock.

Imagine it like this: Nature has promised you a gradual death through the speedy attrition that is cancer. (Any kind, although this turned out to be a particularly virulent prostate cancer.) Since I was not a man of blind faith, my final months were particularly fearful, though tediously so. It was like being strapped to a railroad, but not being able to see or hear the oncoming train.

When your time comes, even when it's calculated, it's never your choice. This was the very last realization I had as a living being. When I felt my insides sieze up and the earth shake, my brain kept telling me everything was going to be okay, everything was going to be alright. It pacified me forcefully as it proceeded to turn out the lights. It was then that I had my horrible last thought. Someone...something...was deciding it was time for me to leave, smashing me to pieces while my soul raged in anger. If this was God, then I could see why he had so many enemies.

After that there was nothing. Or, after the fact, I assume this was the case. At the time I had no doubt that I was in the afterlife, as I had instantly went from lying prone in a hospital bed to a feeling of complete comfort and security. I still could not see or hear anything, but I felt my entire surroundings rippling around me, as if this new reality had yet to assert itself. In wonder, I waited for whatever was to come next. My anger faded to curiosity, and I remember thinking that this must be how it feels to everyone who dies. To me, it was hilarious. The same free will that made me furious at my so-called creator was the same thing that was making me too inquisitive to focus on that same rage.

A rude tugging and jerking were the next sensations I felt. If I had a mouth I would have yelled out, "Hey!", but all I could do was endure it helplessly as I found myself pulled into a sudden light. My first thought, as my eyes began to focus and my ears began to register sound, was the same thought that everyone would have in this situation. Heaven. I had made it to heaven even with all the dumb shit I'd pulled in my lifetime.

Instead of pearly gates, thought, I found a masked pair of eyes above me. An instant later I felt a fat, rubbery finger shove itself into my mouth and start wriggling around. Whatever it was doing, I suddenly found that I could breathe...that I had to breathe. The urge was irresistible and I filled my lungs with air that had a very odd twist to it. I had no idea what that twist was, but I knew instinctively that any time air has an actual taste to it, something was up.

I had absolutely no time to think on that, however, because I was being lifted into the sky and pivoted around to gaze at...at what I thought would be the afterlife. Even now, the realization is hard for me to dwell on. I saw doctors, what were presumably my parents, an obvious hospital room. I was a baby, I had been born again - as trite as that sounds - moments after dying in a hospital bed that for all I knew was one wing over in the same building. What was worse, all of that was starting to fade from my mind. Everything I knew from my past life was falling away like leaves in autumn. I squirmed, I wriggled, I fought as hard as I could to keep my entire fucking life from disappearing but I was utterly powerless. I began to cry...it was the only sound of protest I knew how to make, as everything I knew melted away. A moment later, I had forgotten why I was crying.

Anyway, as it turned out, I had re-entered the living world a good forty years after kicking off the mortal coil. Where my soul was, where I was, in between any of that is a total fucking mystery. Maybe there really is an afterlife, but it's so incomprehensible that the human mind just isn't smart enough to recall it. Who knows. (Nobody! Which is probably the whole point.)

The "future" is a lot like you'd expect it to be if you're a cynic. People's general health and the environment are kind of on life support. A can of soda costs five bucks. The economy is kind of wobbly. The president is still white and affluent, though apparently we had our first black president before I was born for the second time. Oh, and this is a neat thing, though: the internet is totally wireless and it's increasingly more difficult to function in normal society without it. It's having a weird effect on libraries. They're actually beginning to close some up because there's a big governmental push to just have one archive of printed material and not one in every town. Otherwise there's nothing too new to report. Same shit, different day. It's not a good world to bring kids into, I know that much. Can you imagine being brought up into a world where there's not enough drinkable water? And that being the only world you know? Fucking spooky.

I can accurately report that street drugs are still around in great supply, because that's how I came to remember my entire previous life, revelations and all. I don't know if it broke down some hidden chemical wall in my brain or what, but it all came back to me after this one trip in Grants Park. I wasn't functioning too well in the working world after that, I kept getting preoccupied with two lifetimes worth of lessons and conclusions. This was all last summer and I've pretty much been a shambles since then. I'm not working. I'm not doing much else but thinking. I'm way too scared to touch drugs anymore, I'm too afraid it'll bring more back. (Like where I was in between death and life, for instance.)

Sometimes I just have to laugh because I know the answer to The Ultimate Question and all that knowledge has done is kept me completely immobile. I look at other people now and wonder what they would do if they knew. I try and discern the personalities of my friends and family to see if I can tell what kind of person they were in their previous life. I've looked up my old family, but there's only grandkids left, and at this point they're too old themselves to be able to remember me clearly.

Some days I just feel completely trapped and I contemplate killing myself just to see when and where I'll wake up next. Maybe there wouldn't be a "next" time. After all, killing yourself would be actually taking your death into your own hands and choosing when you stop. And I'm sure God would hate if I did that. He wouldn't let me go anywhere after pulling that kind of stunt.

And oddly enough, I want to keep going. It feels like I was chosen for it, almost. Like I'm supposed to keep going and seeing humanity repeat itself over the centuries. And perhaps in time I'll be the only one who knows how to stop it. It could be Divine Purpose.

Or it could be the drugs. Jesus, I don't fucking know. I was hoping writing this all down would help clear it up a little, but all it's done is make my ass hurt. Wisdom of the Ages, that's me. Can't even hold down a job these days...