Dearest Mary,
I am writing from deep in the trenches of the great War on Christmas. War is hell, Mary. I lost my best friend today after a screening of Star Wars The Last Jedi. I held him there in my arms and whispered we cant be friends anymore because you are a Godless heathen and just like that, he was gone.
Fighting my hardest, my love, but the prequels left a bad memory in my soul and the mouse attacks on Christmas are relentless. Theyre using flying magical priests with colorful swords as soldiers,priests, Mary. Its madness, I tell you, utter madness.
Things arent all bad, Mary. My daily ration of Scorsese and Fincher films isnt much, but its enough to keep my spirits alive. And they have pine trees where I'm stationed that I swear touch the sky! I like to imagine the presents wed put under them once this damned war is over, spoils from Novembers bloody Black Friday Crusade. And wed give them to our unborn child, whos caroling in your womb as I write this letter. That is of course, if I make it home alive. I must confess, Mary, sometimes I feel as though Ill not make it. Ive seen otherwise good men crack under the pressure and say things like That Mary Poppins was epic...I find myself entertaining crazy thoughts like Maybe Rey isn't a Mary Sue character makes a certain amount of sense. After all,
Listen to me, Mary, if they heard me saying such things, theyd hang me for treason.
If this is my final correspondence, please know that I fought the good fight. For you. For Christmas.
For America.
Yours always.
BN