Munchies After Kicking Kids - An RSVP Allegory

It's not often that I feel like a character out of a movie. There was that one week I thought I was Sonny Corleone from The Godfather and refused to drive anywhere that required I pass a toll booth, but that's ancient history now (despite what my probation officer says). Recently, however, my Hollywood-dementia has returned, and I'm starting to feel like Billy Crystal in City Slickers.

I'm Billy, atop the monstrously unpredictable equestrian mount, and I'm trying to herd all of these wild cows into a pen. The horse doesn't pay attention, and the cows refuse to FILL OUT A CARD AND PUT IT IN THE MAIL!

I had to send an email to people a few weeks ago reprimanding them for not sending in their RSVPs for my wedding. I then received some RSVPs, whether by mail or phone or email, but a few stragglers are still left out there. So I've started email people directly (rather than en masse, as I did before). One particular email started out normal enough and soon evolved into my usual non-sensical ramblings. This, of course, means that I have to post it here (without the straggler's name, to protect his slacker anonymity).

Without further ado, here's some insanity that's sure to waste your time.
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