This is a letter to you.  Yes, you, with the slack-jawed look on your face.  You, who are probably, at this very moment, as you read these words, scratching your ass.  This is for you.

This is not the letter, however, but merely a precursor, if you will; a mere message of preparation for the letter which follows.  You will know when the letter begins, I am fairly certain of that.

This will be no ordinary letter, mind you.  Not like the letter from grandma, or the kind you get when your wife leaves you, or a notice of past due amount from your credit card company, or even the officious type of letter you received a couple of weeks ago telling you that you don’t qualify for federal student aid because you totally forgot to sign up for selective service when you were eighteen, even though you swear you remember doing it.  No, this is quite a different kind of letter.  You have never been the recipient of this kind of letter.  I know this because I haven’t written it to you until now.  It is quite possible, in fact, that after I write it, you may still not be such a recipient, even after you’ve recieved the damned thing.  I’m not sure, as I haven’t decided yet.

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