Hallmark cards are humankind’s most heinous artifact. They are worse than guns; worse than trans fats; worse than Ernest Goes to Camp. They are ignominious reminders of our most despicable moral regression: ceasing to genuinely attempt intimate, personal expression of affection. “This card says what I never could.” That is, of course, bullshit—we can all say it if we really want to, and it would be better than a stranger-written card because it would be true. Don’t let the dead-eyed, obese, fluorescent light tanned, drug addict corporate card writers* pretend they can say it for you. We all have to learn how to express ourselves—no one else can say it for us, and we all can say it.
*Ok, maybe that’s not how they look, but I’m sure they’re hollow on the inside.
*Ok, maybe that’s not how they look, but I’m sure they’re hollow on the inside.
