This letter is addressed specifically to the following: Royal Bank of Canada, Canada Student Loans, TD Bank, and notorious loan shark Jimmy "The Surprisingly Incompetent Loan Shark" Sharkey. It has recently come to my attention that I apparently borrowed substantial sums of money from each of you in the past. I am forced to take your word in this matter, as I am an artist and live purely in the moment, free of the constraints and demands of the past. I exist in a sort of ethereal chamber of creativity and delight that is occasionally infringed upon by Toys R' Us employees asking "Sir, can you please put the pants back on those Dark Knight Rises figurines?" In any case, I understand that your needs are not my needs, and that you move to the clock of commerce, with its minute hand made of 24-karat gold and its hour hand made of sterling silver and also the second hand is just a very small man trying to sell you on tech futures. The problem, however, is that your philosophy of "repay us the money we lent to you" conflicts entirely with my philosophy of "I don't want to do that." So, in the interest of fairness, I have come up with some possible solutions that I hope will be suitable to all parties.
1) Meet me in a park of your choosing next week and beat my debt out of me. There are ground rules for this, of course. Any beating implements must not be made of iron or any alloy. Wood is an acceptable substance, but only if padded with a soft substance such as gym mats, couch stuffing or Fleet Foxes albums. Hands are allowable only if cushioned by boxing gloves, styrofoam or the whispers of an anemic child. You can kiss me only if you are being ironic.
2) I am willing to spend 50 hours a week (at least) working off my debt by just hanging out in your offices and cracking jokes in order to ease the drudgery of your work days. I do several outrageous impressions that often get extremely close to, if not IN, your face. I also have several hilarious catchphrases I can spout at several key moments. For instance, if someone trips and falls on the office carpet, I can shout in their face "Hey, what's with the dive? The Olympics are over!" Or if you're feeling down in the dumps, I can call you "Mr. Cool" or "The Fonz" or "Dom Arigato", a very suave Italian guy I just made up who loves his mother but also emanates a certain desperate, if slightly sad, machismo. You'll laugh away the pain caused by your divorce or the death of your cousin or sexuality!
Anyway, do get back to me and let me know your preference. If neither of these are attractive options, I can always just fake my death. Anyway, toodles!
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