If you’re reading this, it means you’re a paid subscriber to my newsletter. This is a special edition, in other words. You’re part of my inner-circle. In some ways, this is like being in the Illuminati, but without the Eyes-Wide-Shut parties, and without the political intrigue and influence and ugly mega-yachts, or the satellite-based space lasers. Still good, though, and without the tedious necessity of nodding politely whenever Bezos says anything evil and nasty, which I assume happens all the time.

As you know, about three months ago I moved my newsletter to Substack. I try to write at least once-per-week nowadays, and this keeps me busy, though some small tasks have fallen through the cracks. One thing I never did? I didn’t create a good welcome email for my new subscribers — at least, not until today. I also didn’t write a good email thanking my paid subscribers. Which is you, by the way. That was … pretty remiss of me. In my defense, I live this bizarrely busy life for a man who is otherwise unemployed.

Last week, I spent several days working to make the Wrongcards website more usable for people with disabilities. Each year, I do a bunch of improvements like that, and add ‘under the hood’ features … because why shouldn’t people with disabilities be able to annoy their friends? But it’s a complex business, and tricky to do properly. It’s easy to build a website; it’s a bit more challening to build one for people who cannot see it or navigate it easily.

I have a billion things I’m trying to do, all at once. I plan to return to making cards for Wrongcards at some point — hundreds and hundreds of ‘em, if I can. I also wrote this entire 140,000+ word novel which I haven’t even attempted to publish yet. I just kinda haven’t had time to think about it.

My next tasks is to find a way for my paid subscribers like yourself to download the ebook editions of The Harvard Skull Fiasco and its sequel. I think you’ll like ‘em. In the meantime, send me an email and I’ll send them to you as an attachment.

Also, if we haven’t already had a back-and-forth with me about your physical address, get in touch (kris@stgabriel.io) so I can figure out if I can send you a box of Wrong postcards. My friend Zoya sent out a dozen or so boxes two weeks ago; if you didn’t received a package, and you were expecting to, lemme know. We can’t send them to all countries, unfortunately; it’s a real pain, but there’s nothing to be done about it.

Anyway, the purpose of this email is to say thank you for being a paid subscriber. I honestly appreciate your support. And because I didn’t send you a Thank You letter before now, this is it here, below. I know, I know. I need a personal assistant. Or possibly even a small army of personal assistants. Or better yet, robots. Heavily be-weaponed robots and now I’m thinking about it, a subterranean lair under a volcano. And some of those space lasers, with which to antagonize my enemies. You know, the illuminati, and Bezos, and those people who ride on planes or public transport with their feet on the seats. And each day, my to-do list steadily grows…

So what follows is the new ‘Thank You’ letter which my future paid subscribers will receive automatically. It is all sincere and based upon a true story. Sadly.

Dear Paid Subscriber,

I am deeply grateful. Your support means everyhing to me. Let me explain it.

Whenever I receive a notification that I have a new paid subscriber, I always exclaim, each time without fail, “WOOT! LIFE IS GOOD!”

Then, my daughters, who are still quite small, pipe up with excitement: “Is it a new paid subscriber, Dadda?”

So then we dance around the house for a little while. And Hattie asks me, then, if I’ll take her and her sister out for sushi — because I did that, that one time, remember!?

And this is how I am obliged to respond:

“No, Hattie. I am not taking you out for sushi.”

Then, the inevitable, “ But why?!”

“Hattie,” I said, “do you remember how, on your mother’s birthday, she and I had to step out to buy some eggs? Because I was baking her a sponge cake? And how, before we left, both of your parents specifically told you not to light any fires while we were gone?

“And then, do you remember, we came home and you were like: ‘This amazing thing happened, Dadda! Someone must have been doing a controlled burn-off in our area, because some burning leaves landed in our back yard! But I put out the fire, don’t worry, though it sure was a close thing! We nearly lost the house!’”

Hattie does remember. Her eyes are aglow. “That was when you fell on the ground and didn’t speak for many minutes, and eventually said, ‘I see now, Hattie, you have been sent here to test me.’

“I love you, Dadda,” she adds, wistfully.

“I love you, too, which happens to be the other reason I’m not taking you to buy you sushi. This is all part of my healing process.”

Mine is a fraught existence, you see. I am uneasy. The odds are stacked against me. I desperately want to make the world a better and happier place, but I seem to be spending most of my time ducking and weaving. Then, of course, there’s all that metaphysical karate with my children.

But this is precisely why your backing me as a paid subscriber means so much to me. No, really … it’s a big deal. Yet, like that moment in which I lay on the ground beside Hattie (who reeked of matches and gasoline, I somehow remember), there are some matters which will always leave me speechless. And, though it feels inadequate, all I can say is: Thank You, I appreciate you.

With chaste affection,

Kris St.Gabriel