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Dear Mr Census man, thanks for everything

Dear Mr Census man, thanks for everything

Friday 12 August, 2016
One citizen’s earnest letter of thanks to the Census somehow ended up on our desk. So, we’re printing it. Enjoy one man, taking complete leave of one’s Census.
The story starts here...

To whom it may concern,

I am writing to you this evening, Mr Census person, in order to comment on the poll we all thoroughly enjoyed taking in part in last evening. And, yes, while some of us had to wait in order to ride the rollercoaster, it was well worth it in the end.

Let me tell you a little about me (which is silly, because you know it all, tee hee). I am a man who, when presented by one of life’s hurdles, is coathangered by it. I paid little attention in school, I was too busy mimicking the popular kids in an effort to be seen as acceptable. As a direct result, I didn’t attend University, and my CV is made memorable by a series of instantly forgettable positions. I am not seen as management material, and I do my job well enough to not get sacked. I am unmarried, as I have let love slip through my calloused fingers, twice, as my ideal version of the relationship didn’t meet the reality, and the fatigue of life drove us apart.

My life, as it stands, is not so much a mess, but a tub of no-brand vanilla ice-cream. Completely inedible, even in the presence of much more exciting flavours. Sorry. Sorry, for the over-share, Mr Census person, but I’m just elated with the opportunity awarded to myself, and yes, I went off on a ridiculous tangent. Sorry.

Anyway, for when I was able to submit my answers, my life changed. Hence this email. I’d like to cross-reference the answers that I submitted on the Census, because they’re all entirely true.

First:

Yes, I’m married. It was a small ceremony. My wife (still sounds strange to say it, ha-ha,) doesn’t have much family over here (she’s a gymnast from Ukraine), so it was just us. Didn’t matter, she doesn’t play games, or celebrate needlessly (which is classic Natalya). We travelled to the local registrar and were married by the man behind the glass. She cried quietly, while I certainly didn’t. My sweet little персик.

Incidentally, Jodie, my ex-partner was there, and she saw us and got real mad.

It was great.

Second:

Thank you for your congratulations regarding my new position. It just happened so fast. They asked, I said yes, handshakes were had. Now I know you know what the job I have is, but in case someone reads this letter (or God forbid, publishes it), my exact modus of employment must remain secret. But it involves guns. And ski-chalets. And one-liners powering conversation on a powerboat. Rhymes with Flames Pond.

Getit?

In closing, Mr Census man, I know you’re busy, but next time we meet, I guess it will be on the international casino circuit, or perhaps crossing paths in the corridors of power. Where we both share a nod of approval, for you giving me the opportunity, and for I, and taking it with both hands.

Can’t wait.

Thanks again,

Jim gnarly-sex-machine-beast Gwolzbopper, Universal Exports, Bahamas.

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