You know the one. That revolting Christmas letter you get every year. The one written entirely in third person. Surrounded by a border of holly. The one that details how Bobby, Jr. is going to Harvard, Jill is head cheerleader, Bob, Sr. got another promotion, and Mrs. Bob, Sr. loves scrapbooking! Or the one that describes how little Prescott is such a "free spirit" and has "amazing energy" (read: has been kicked out of five schools and is looking forward to a future that probably involves arson). The letter that goes on for pages and pages with the expectation that you care to know the minute detail of the lives of people who don't care enough about you to communicate with you through any other means than a yearly mass letter. (If you're really special, your name is penned in after the typed "Dear.")
They make you cringe. They make you dry heave. They make you fume. They tarnish any fond memory you still had of the sender. They make you want to get your tubes tied.
But what can you do short of scrawling "return to sender" across the envelope? We've found a solution. Send them here. Consider this blog a big, giant wastebasket for all revolting Christmas letters.
Bah. Humbug.
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