The Whole Kit ‘n’ Caboodle

Dear Holden,

I haven’t heard from you in a long time, so I felt writing you a letter would be appropriate. In this age of instant communication, I’ve noticed that you’ve gone dormant. It’s as though you’ve fallen off the face of the earth. I get it, I have times where I just want to curl into a ball and let my responsibilities melt away. Practically every day I have a moment or two like that, but I can’t act on such a desire without losing my footing.

I don’t know if you can consistently manage to sidestep life’s persistent nagging by using your hands-off method. Are you able to shut it all out like a professional athlete? Do you just not need social interaction on a regular basis? Your lifestyle intrigues and alarms me at the same time.

Have you ever thought about taking on a pupil, someone with whom to share your worldview? If you’re even remotely interested in that kind of arrangement, I’d be an eager student. You wouldn’t even need to do any teaching, per se. I’d be content just to co-exist with you on a somewhat routine basis, to soak up the lack of urgency that you embody.

Since I’ve already tried to contact you by phone, email, Facebook and LinkedIn to no avail, I send off this letter as a way of showing that I can use old school methods of communication to be a friend. I know that you’ve always prided yourself on your penmanship, and I’m sure you know that I would just love to get a hand-written letter from you. There’s nothing you can’t tell me, buddy. Write me back, okay? I want you think about my proposition.

Warmest wishes,

Gabriella

Dear Lex,

I trust this letter finds you well. Let me just cut to the chase. I don’t know what to do about these fencers in my backyard. They showed up three days ago and they’ve returned each day since. I’m looking at them from my kitchen window right now, and my blood is boiling. Nowhere on my property does it say “Fencers Welcome”. I’ve tried to shoo them away, doing everything short of calling the cops (yelling at them, throwing rocks, threatening their families, etc.). You know that I don’t want to drag the authorities into this if I don’t absolutely need to.

Look, these fencers aren’t exactly wreaking havoc (aside from wearing down my lawn with their lunging), I’m more concerned with the principle of the thing. How would they like it if I decided to practice my golf game on their lawn without being invited?

I know you have methods for getting rid of unwanted pests, so I feel compelled to ask you for a favor. Before you object, just remember who pulled the strings to get your dog into the best obedience school in the state. I don’t care how you do it, I just want those fencers never to appear on my property again. You have full creative license on this one. I’ll even sweeten the deal. If you take care of this nuisance, I’ll buy you dinner at that new gastropub downtown. I know how much you like hipster food.

Love,

Edna

Dearest Mr. Farthington,

I write to you because I have too many oxen these days, and I am unable to sell them off. The market has really taken a turn on livestock sales, and I can’t keep taking care of all of them without slowly pawning off my more valuable possessions (a headshot signed by Mickey Mantle, a baseball signed by Mickey Rooney, a gold-plated casserole dish, to name a few).

Soon it will come to pass that I need to sell off a portion of my land just to get by, so I have no choice but to put a number of my oxen up for adoption. They’re very well-mannered, and can do some serious heavy lifting. They’re not used to being treated as beasts of burden, as I’ve spoiled them a fair bit. If you know anybody with a pasture and a loving home who may be looking for oxen, please let them know that my animals will make great companions who don’t need much entertaining other than the occasional puppet show.

Thank you for your kind consideration–

Sincerely,

Jedediah Buckton

I thrifted a dingo from a local wildlife sell-off emporium; the fella had a cartridge for a brain. Wild this dingo was not, likely built by an animal replicator to decorate the grasslands, pre-programmed to bark at sudden movements. I took out the cartridge with care, blew into it and replaced it. The only change I noticed was a small tick that popped off every thirty seconds or so. I removed the cartridge once more and got the inside with a moist cotton swab. This time the dingo froze completely, and I took it back for a full refund, only to learn that all sales are final. My inanimate dingo friend now stands in the living room, staring at the TV.