Dearest Martha,

I see another National Garlic Day has passed, and there is not a gift in my mailbox. For 35 years now, I’ve waited patiently for you to recognize my Friend Value, remind yourself of my magnificence a few weeks before Garlic Day, and then express that value physically with a gift on April 19. Sadly, I’m not seeing a lot of effort on your part, Martha. This doesn’t seem to be happening.

Granted, I haven’t reminded you to buy me a present. I also haven’t informed you that Garlic Day exists. I didn’t know it existed myself until I read an article about it last week. But the fact that it has existed for years and you haven’t once bought me a Garlic Day gift is very hurtful.

I’m not asking for a lot. I just want you to drop everything in your life, spend hours educating yourself about garlic history online, and then spend $500 to $800 on a gift for me that is in no way related to garlic. Don’t tell me you can’t afford it, Martha. You live in a first world country. You have access to credit cards. Are you aware that credit card companies have to forgive your debt once you’re dead? It’s true! You can spend your entire life buying me luxurious Garlic Day gifts and never pay that money back. When you die, it will all be free! You can also use those credit cards to buy something small for yourself if you’d like.

Your repeated lack of gifts or any celebration whatsoever of Garlic Day is leading people to talk, Martha. And by “people”, I mean me. There are rumors floating around. Nasty rumors I started that suggest you may be a vampire. You don’t seem to like garlic very much. You never order it in restaurants. Do you know what vampires do at restaurants, Martha? Not order garlic.

You’re also very pale. You sleep until 3pm every day and then sit around your apartment playing video games until it’s dark outside. On the rare occasion you venture outside during the day, you always wear large sunglasses to hide from the sunlight. You say it’s what’s fashionable, but it all seems a little too convenient. I also remember that you wore a cape at a Halloween party in 2004. A cape! Only the mentally ill and the undead wear capes, Martha. It’s a fact. But perhaps the largest tell of all that you’re a vampire: You never send me gifts on Onion Day.

Wait, garlic or onion? I forgot. Onion Day sounds like a lot of weeping. Wait, it’s called Garlic Day! I remember now.

Rest assured that this Garlic Day thing isn’t going away anytime soon, Martha. People aren’t going to forget it, like I just did. Get your act together, Martha! You will either conform to the shitty standards I have forced upon you and no one else in modern society, or you will wake up in a dumpster filled with dog penises, with your mother’s wedding dress stuffed entirely inside your butt. That’s what happens to vampires, Martha. At least it does in the screenplay I wrote, which may or may not star Paul Giamatti, pending his response to an email I sent him about it two years ago.
The screenplay is called “Vumpy The Grumpy Vampire”. It is both a musical and a pornographic film. Paul Giamatti plays Paul Vumpy. I gave the character his first name so it would be easier to remember other characters are speaking to him when he’s acting. I covered all this in the email. He knows.

Now is the time to get involved in Garlic Day, Martha. Instead of angering me by forgetting the random, likely made-up holidays I force upon you without warning, I’d recommend you just randomly buy me expensive gifts every month or so. That way neither of us misses anything. I get the previously discussed $900-$1,400 gifts from you with a receipt, and you get the smug self satisfaction that comes with being nice to others.

Just make sure the gift isn’t garlic. I don’t really care for the stuff. To each their own, though. Except for you. Nothing but garlic for you, Martha. Are you listening to me, Martha?! MARTHA! ANSWER ME, DAMN IT! MAAAARTHA! GARLIC DAY, GODDAMN IT MARTHA!

I’m not saying I’m going to stab you in the heart with a stake if you don’t buy me a present, but I totally am. Do with that information what you will.

Sincerely,
Paul Ryan

P.S. It turns out I accidentally emailed my screenplay to Bart Giamatti, a former commissioner of Major League Baseball who died in 1989. This may complicate the release schedule.