Dear Soria Family (and Fig Newton),

Thank you sooooo much for my ever so wonderful presents. Before this package arrived, I was slouching about in my PJ's contemplating the utter unknowability of the universe, the fact that I will probably never meet Bigfoot or ever the Loch Ness Monster, the doomed banality of working at this no good nonprofit, and all and all occupying the winter of my discontent. With the bottle pourers I shall throw olive oil about the pan with reckless abandon, and also intoxicate my coworkers before lunchtime (with or without their consent, my therapist says it is best) with the hopes of causing a revolt. The lovely nightlight will keep me on a sacred spiritual path as I dream of killing everyone who works in central administration (especially the computer guys) by night. I will fill the stylish lunchbox with yummy things, and then bludgeon the Washington americorps bureaucrats to death right before lunchtime (their tombstones could say "bored to death with ameri-corpse). I will use the Freer Gallery pamphlet to burn down my office building by night, only to look at the spiritual art depicted on its pages and be reminded that my purpose is indeed sanctioned by the gods and therefore just. And I will wear the rhinestone bindis when the cops finally show up, to represent the blinding light of my insight, and also to reflect back the lights they shine in my face, in order to conceal my identity. All in all, I will enjoy these presents, or die trying.

Love, Jane Torpedo