I have decided that I would like to own the twenty volume set of George Orwell's writing as compiled by Peter Davison. It took him, reportedly, fifteen years to complete. I wouldn't mind the hardcover box set, I wouldn't. It's something like seven hundred and fifty pounds--at least, this is what I saw on a web tour. It might be more. The hardcovers are showing up individually as out of print. Still, that seven fifty translates to about one thousand seven hundred and fifty in Australian colony money. But, yeah, y'know, I'd like to own one of those sets and not spend fifteen years trying to get the money.

So, I think we all know the solution here, yes?

Right.

Ahem.

"Dear God,

I have been good this year. Please give me money.

Okay, it's true that I did buy a bible and kick it around to dirty it up; but it was for art. Art, as you know, is important. Also, I introduced people to the miracle of Jesus' foreskin--and I didn't point out what an obvious oral sex thing that was, or make jokes about priests saying, "Would you like to lick Jesus' foreskin," to little boys (and possibly girls). I resisted said urge. Likewise I did not say to my girlfriend, "Lets pretend I'm Jesus and I've just been circumcised and it hurts and I need the right kind of sympathy." Sure, I'm single, and the chance didn't come up, but I could've paid prostitutes if I'd really wanted.

So, yeah, like I said: I have been good. Please send me money.

Your Pal,

Ben Peek."