First off, let me begin by once again thanking you for inviting me into your home for an evening of fun and games. I’m so glad that we (you, me, and our collective friends) are able to get together regularly for fun and shenanigans. What a blessing this is during these trying times. As you are all too aware, the suggestion to play Mario Kart did not come from me, but from another. However, I enthusiastically raised support for this notion as soon as it was brought up. Therefore, I feel a need to apologize for some of my behavior that took place during the game.
I apologize that during the heat of battle I let a strong expletive slip in front of your seven-year-old. There was no need for this, nor was there a need for you all to be placed in the awkward position of explaining said word to the child. I am deeply sorry for this and want you to know how terrible I feel that your seven-year-old saying the word over and over was somehow uploaded to Instagram (way to have my back there, Dan).
I am sorry that I lost all sense of sportsmanship during Mario Kart. That I slip into a strange fugue state and become some other person. A person who is only consumed with coming in first, and who is, quite frankly, vicious and unforgiving towards those who would dare challenge me. Please know that I will be sending a check to you to cover the damage I did to your new, white sofa. I wasn’t entirely myself when I poured a mug of hot, black coffee over my head and proclaimed “I am the god of hell-fire.”
I’m sorry that I scared you when after you hit me with multiple blue shells that I locked eyes with you and exclaimed: “Don’t you want to die with honor like a true Klingon on the race track?” I also am sorry that I stole one of your cherished bowling trophies, having been under the impression that it was the coveted Mushroom Cup Prize. I’ve sent it to Ray’s Trophy-Rama to have it cleaned and returned to you. The grease from all those pizza rolls I was consuming will be cleaned off.
I will be sending a cleaning crew over not just to clean your entire home, but especially your downstairs bathroom where, again in a fugue state, I took someone’s lipstick and wrote “Shy Guy Falls” all over the walls. I’m sorry I “borrowed” your coveted, oversized plush Yoshi, and pretended to ride it around the neighborhood. I’m sorry I worried your neighbors by asking them if they had “the mushrooms that would make me grow.”
Again, I can not begin to tell you how awful I feel about the whole thing. I hope this letter and my small gestures of restitution will not cause a chill of terror to go down your spine the next time I am—hopefully—invited back into your home. Next game night is all on me, and over at my own home.