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An Open Letter to the Guy Who Stole My Organizer
On Sunday night, January 31, 1999, some lowlife lifted my organizer. I wrote this page in the hope that he would one day read it and mend his ways.
You creep. You slimeball. What did you think was going to be in there? Cash? Credit cards? I keep those in my wallet like any normal person, big surprise. Maybe you just thought I looked like such a great guy, you wanted all my friends' phone numbers. Because that's all you got. That and some stamps. And a couple of quarters for emergencies. Like when some guy steals my organizer!

In the summer of 1995, I was at an amusement park when an amazing storm rolled in really fast and began throwing lightning down all around me. There was a building shaped like a giant teepee right in front of me and I got this intense feeling that it was about to get hit, so I just stood there and stared at it. And you know what? It did get hit. And a shower of splinters rained down and I picked one up and saved it because it was an actual sliver of wood hit by an actual lightning bolt and I put it away for safe-keeping because I felt it was a natural lucky charm that would bring me good fortune. And you know where I put it? In my organizer! I hope you stab your hand on that sliver and lightning strikes it again and makes you dizzy for the rest of your life so you can't steal any more people's organizers without falling down and getting caught.

You didn't think I needed my organizer? My mom gave me that organizer. She did, really. I kept all my receipts in there from all my recent purchases just in case I needed to return something. Now if something turns out defective, I'm stuck with it. Thanks a lot.

I hope we both become successful businessmen and someday we'll have a meeting together and you'll bring out your organizer and I'll recognize that it's the one you stole and I'll take it back and make sure you never work in that town again, whichever town we're in. Then I'll cut your tie off.

If you're out there, and you read this, just take my organizer to Albertson's and leave it in the cereal aisle so someone finds it and calls me so I get it back, OK? Dickhead.