Dear Michael Atkinson,
Last month, some readers wrote me letters to complain about the way you've been treating them. You are a man with a mission to keep violent games out of the hands of children by making sure that no one can play them, regardless of their age or maturity level. Not being Australian I was hesitant to become involved; really, it's not my business, is it? My only qualifications are that we met briefly while touring Thailand and I know that Australia isn't a country nestled between Germany and Hungary.
It's been nearly 15 years since we met in the Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok but I like to think our friendship has withstood the test of time. After all, your wife sent me that card that said, "Dear Mr./Mrs. Marion Cox, Thank you for your continued support and donations to the Australian Labor party." Despite her gender neutral greeting, I think it speaks deeply to your character that I have remained on your mailing list over these long years.
Sure, we had our differences; for one, you refused to change out of that bright orange Speedo. I was happy lying on the beach enjoying the hallucinatory effects of some indigenous flora and a tropical cocktail until you ran by my beach chair and the veiny flesh of your pallid buttocks flapped past me. That severely harshed my mellow, man, but I am not going to say that ruined the trip. Even with your weird European ways we managed to meet up again and mend fences over a breakfast of whiskey, caffeine pills and milk.