Letter to the Bank#23

Dear BM,

It has been a while but if you have the least bit of sensitivity you can already tell I have not changed my tone. Am I asking you how you are, like a civil person should? No because I already know the answer. You are doing just fine. I am not exactly thrilled for you. It can’t be that hard when people are so eager and willing to toss wads of money at you every time you blink. Nobody does that when I blink. You don’t even have to work for it. If just sitting behind a desk speculating recklessly is all it takes then I want in on the action. I'm very good at being reckless! Just look at the state of my mortgage! I’ll just write the word banker on my forehead. And don’t you start getting all defensive. That line about having to pay the talent, keep the talent pool, offer bonuses blah blah blah. Well sure where genuine talent is involved, sure if they earned it. We just are not overjoyed to see institutional disfunction that has seriously hurt us all being rewarded. I’m straining to be ever so slightly light hearted. I feel a bit like the brilliant satirical singer/songwriter (and mathematician) Tom Lehrer, who once said in an interview, when asked why he’d stopped writing his hilarious songs, that he no longer found any of it funny anymore.

It doesn’t appear as if any you guys really give a damn how you are perceived. Nobody appears ready to impose regulations on you and you cannot be shamed into behaving ethically and altruistically anymore. So where does that leave us but down in the dumps. That is where I’ve been for a while. Truthfully a mood approximating despair has kept me damped way down. I admit it—I am not my usual fiery self. But I do have glimmers of hope buried under the ashes, glimmers that are ready to be reignited given the right fuel. Your talents will be heavily taxed as you try to keep my fury at bay. I was almost completely put out but now feel a growing heat underground as if the earth still believes enough in humans to offer them once more the gift of fire and fury.

I’ll give you a tip: If you dignify my letter to you with a response I might be controllable for some time yet. Your justified concern that I might just start a forest fire and threaten your lovely McMansion on the hill, or your barricaded millionaire enclave in the valley can be assuaged by a thoughtful reply.

Sincerely,

K.C.

PS— I see you have changed the term toxic asset to legacy security. How brilliant. Maybe you do deserve that bonus! Come on! Lighten up. That is what I am about to do.

Financial Letter Pertaining to Baby Teeth

Dear Mr. J ,

We have had brought to the matter of our attention a most terrible oversight concerning payment in arrears for not one, not two, not three but FOUR teeth. We are most upset and in a tizzy here in Toothfairy Land and are anxious to make amends. Crude as it may seem we are keeping matters simple by presenting you with this note wherein it is stated in no uncertain terms that you are owed the sum of Twenty Dollars to be presented when funds are forthcoming. You are not the only ones to be suffering the withering effects of unregulated banking. Here in Toothfairy Land the Tooth Fairy bankers have behaved most irresponsibly so monies are not so easy to come by. BUT with the election of Honey Spring Dew as president of our fair lands things are looking up and debts such as those we owe you are to be paid as promptly as is fairingly possible—to wit—this is a WeOU:

$20.00

Present this to your parents this coming weekend and they should make good as our unwitting representatives.

Yours most apologetically,


Fairy Attorneys at Law Pickleberry Witherspoon and Aardvark Teacupsugar.


PS We would like to add your behaviour regarding the mouth implement is most admirable.
We in the Tooth Fairy community have not failed to take note.



Dear Parents,

I’m bummed about the mouth expander. It is really annoying but I won’t complain. No point as it doesn’t get me anything but sympathetic frowns which I don’t really enjoy very much. If complaining got me a dog or a cat, or a flemish giant rabbit, or an upgrade on my phone (the camera sucks) or another guitar it might be worth it. However I will tell you this: I’m thirteen years old (going on sixteen though I do say so myself) and don’t need your witty fairy letters to appease me. Just cough up the money,

Your son,
J
(bedroom across from yours)