220 atnascorp.com ESMTP Postfix (Debian/GNU) EHLO atnaspc5 250-atnascorp.com 250-PIPELINING 250-SIZE 10240000 250-VRFY 250-ETRN 250-STARTTLS 250-ENHANCEDSTATUSCODES 250-8BITMIME 250 DSN MAIL FROM: 250 2.1.0 Ok RCPT TO: 250 2.1.5 Ok DATA 354 End data with . From: "c" To: Subject: Answer To Your Question Date: Thu, 3 Dec 2015 13:38:15 -0500 Message-ID: <005a01d12df9$c5b00990$51101cb0$@atnascorp.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_NextPart_000_005B_01D12DCF.DCDA76C0" X-Mailer: Microsoft Outlook 15.0 Thread-Index: AdEt+b3jejRUkW/FSByK/qhouKyIpQ== Content-Language: en-us This is a multipart message in MIME format. ------=_NextPart_000_005B_01D12DCF.DCDA76C0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Dr. O'Malley, In your recent email, you inquired: > When did you first notice your anxiety about the holiday season? Anxiety is hardly the word for it. It's a deep-seated hatred, Doctor. Before I get into details, please allow me to remind you that we operate under the strictest doctor-patient confidentiality agreement in the business. I have some very powerful lawyers whom I'd hate to invoke in the event of some leak on your part. I seek your help because you are the best psychiatrist in all of Who-ville. To answer your question directly, as a young child (I must have been no more than two), I experienced a life-changing interaction. Very late on Christmas Eve, I was awakened to find a grotesque green Who dressed in a tattered Santa Claus outfit, standing in my barren living room, attempting to shove our holiday tree up the chimney. My senses heightened, I put on my best little-girl innocent voice and asked him what he was doing. He explained that he was "Santy Claus" and needed to send the tree for repair. I instantly knew it was a lie, but I humored the old thief so I could escape to the safety of my bed. That horrifying interaction ruined Christmas for me that year, and I was terrified of the whole holiday season throughout my teen years. I later learned that the green Who was known as "the Grinch" and had lost his mind in the middle of a crime spree to steal Christmas presents. At the very moment of his criminal triumph, he had a pitiful change of heart and started playing all nicey-nice. What an amateur! When I became an adult, my fear of Christmas boiled into true hatred of the whole holiday season. I knew that I had to stop Christmas from coming. But how? I vowed to finish what the Grinch had started, but to do it at a far larger scale. Using the latest technology and a distributed channel of burglars, we'd rob 2 million houses, grabbing their most precious gifts, and selling them on the open market. We'll destroy Christmas as two million homes full of people all cry "BOO-HOO", and we'll turn a handy profit on the whole deal. Is this "wrong"? I simply don't care. I bear the bitter scars of the Grinch's malfeasance, and singing a little "Fahoo Fores" isn't gonna fix that! What is your advice, doctor? Signed, Cindy Lou Who ------=_NextPart_000_005B_01D12DCF.DCDA76C0 Content-Type: text/html; charset="us-ascii" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable

Dr. O’Malley,

 

In your = recent email, you inquired:

 

> When = did you first notice your anxiety about the holiday = season?

 

Anxiety is hardly the word for it.  It’s a = deep-seated hatred, Doctor.

 

Before I get = into details, please allow me to remind you that we operate under the = strictest doctor-patient confidentiality agreement in the = business.  I have some very powerful lawyers whom I’d hate to = invoke in the event of some leak on your part.  I seek your help = because you are the best psychiatrist in all of = Who-ville.

 

To answer your question directly, as a young child (I = must have been no more than two), I experienced a life-changing = interaction.  Very late on Christmas Eve, I was awakened to find a = grotesque green Who dressed in a tattered Santa Claus outfit, standing = in my barren living room, attempting to shove our holiday tree up the = chimney.  My senses heightened, I put on my best little-girl = innocent voice and asked him what he was doing.  He explained that = he was “Santy Claus” and needed to send the tree for = repair.  I instantly knew it was a lie, but I humored the old thief = so I could escape to the safety of my bed.  That horrifying = interaction ruined Christmas for me that year, and I was terrified of = the whole holiday season throughout my teen years.

 

I later = learned that the green Who was known as “the Grinch” and had = lost his mind in the middle of a crime spree to steal Christmas = presents.  At the very moment of his criminal triumph, he had a = pitiful change of heart and started playing all nicey-nice.  What = an amateur!  When I became an adult, my fear of Christmas boiled = into true hatred of the whole holiday season.  I knew that I had to = stop Christmas from coming.  But how?

 

I vowed to = finish what the Grinch had started, but to do it at a far larger = scale.  Using the latest technology and a distributed channel of = burglars, we’d rob 2 million houses, grabbing their most precious = gifts, and selling them on the open market.  We’ll destroy = Christmas as two million homes full of people all cry = “BOO-HOO”, and we’ll turn a handy profit on the whole = deal.

 

Is this “wrong”?  I simply = don’t care.  I bear the bitter scars of the Grinch’s = malfeasance, and singing a little “Fahoo Fores” isn’t = gonna fix that!

 

What is your = advice, doctor?

 

Signed,

Cindy Lou = Who

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