Here's hoping that Postman Pete had the wrong address... since i'm not quite used to this kind of mail. Usually when I rush to the mailbox after i'm sure the postman is out of sight and earshot (so he doesn't know how desperately I want to get some real mail), i'm greeted by my monthly report of what my MPP whom I didn't elect is accusing the conservatives of doing now, or a stack of bills reminding me just how much money I doled out this month. But yesterday, when I hopefully opened the lid, there was this ominous letter waiting for me. I'm not sure how this would work since I didn't actually open the letter - just merely documented its arrival for posterity's sake, but how do you just get started cremating yourself? Just put a bit of lighter fluid on your toe and strike a match? Douse your hair with gasoline and make a spark? I'll admit i'm probably getting a bit far fetched but I did find this somewhat amusing and at the same time very morbid... I've got a will and life insurance, how much more prepared would you like me to be?
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