Oh shit I forgot the title

Subjects,

I've just been out, darting between all the fatties waddling past boutiques with items arranged by sweatshop of origin, in order to visit Hellmark.
Christmas cards are even more disgusting here than they are back in the withered old Empire, but I'm sure you could have guessed that with the benefit of your mass media based research. My cunning plan was to find a card for mother dearest that said 'Mom' on it, in order to prove that I really am in Freedom. However, it was near impossible to find a card fitting this description that did not also contain words of such frighteningly aggressive, possibly Oedipal, affection inside that my mother would not be convinced that I had been replaced by an impostor and write me out of her will. And then who would take over the bordello?
After establishing which card was least awful, I stepped carefully past the puddles of my vomit, and found a box of appalling 'humor' [sic] cards. Ten are up for grabs. If you want one, with a genuine piece of Freedom stuck on the envelope, then email me your address. If I know who you are, then you know who I am and how to get in touch. Otherwise, I suggest you find someone else to send you cards. A friend perhaps. Or you could post some to yourself, and open them excitedly before breaking down in tears and wishing you'd never been born at all.
Last day for mail to Urope is the 11th, so be quick.

This will be an interesting measure of the intersection between who still reads this and who likes to receive junk mail. As if I don't already know...

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