ABSTRACT
There’s something very insincere about these greeting cards we send back and forth to each other all the time. They’re like these little one-dollar folded paper emotional prostitutes, aren’t they? “I don’t know what my feelings are, so I’ll just pay some total stranger a buck to make up this little Hallmark hooker to do the job for me. So I can go, ‘Yeah, I didn’t write this, but whatever they wrote, I think the same thing.’” Wouldn’t it be better if we just had one card that covered every occasion for everybody in one shot? Just “Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, Happy Anniversary, Congratulations, It’s a Boy and Our Deepest Sympathies. Signed, the whole office.”
