Before I begin, let me just say, I heard that Disney’s Infinity War made over 2 billion dollars at the box office, so allow me to offer you a big congratulations on that. Really cool. And while 2 billion dollars is indeed a lot of money, there are some things even it cannot buy, such as a way to bring Goofy G. Goof, whom I accidentally hit and killed with my car, back to life.

At this point, I’d like to point out that I didn’t just leave him in the street. A lot of people would have just left him there and drove off, but not me. I was both respectful enough and strong enough to drag Goofy’s 200-pound body to your doorstep, leave this note on top of his corpse, ring your doorbell, and run away before I had to look you in the eye.

You’re probably wondering how it happened. Well, I was driving my 2004 cherry red Pontiac Grand Am (and let me tell you, if I had a nickel for every make-out session I had in the back of that car, let’s just say Infinity War’s earnings would look like chump change compared to what I’d have) when I saw Goofy floundering about in the middle of the road. It appeared to be a “slapstick gone awry” situation. He was on a skateboard, and if I had to deduce what happened, my best guess is that he slipped on it, maybe at the top of a staircase, rolled all the way out of his house, and found himself in the middle of the street. It would have been hilarious, if not for what happened next.

By the time I saw him, it was too late for me to stop. It would appear that Goofy’s clumsiness, a characteristic that some regarded as his endearing quirk, was his tragic downfall.

Before you ask, no I wasn’t texting and driving. I was engaging in some distracted driving, however, because I was thinking about how the Iron Giant sacrificed his life so that he could save all the people of Rockwell, Maine. I started bawling my eyes out thinking about how this metal machine could be so human.

Naturally, I leaned over to get the tissues from my glovebox, which I keep in there precisely for situations such as these.

It was in that moment that I took my eyes off the road that I hit and killed Goofy.

I know I am not supposed to think about the Iron Giant and drive, and I’ve had my license suspended in the past for this very reason, but how can I stop myself when consciously trying not to think about the Iron Giant is thinking about the Iron Giant?

What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think anyone is necessarily at fault here. That being said, I would like for you to pay for the damages done to my car because I sure as hell am not going to pay for them (and we both know you can afford it).

Make no mistake, I am not letting myself off the hook for my actions. Committing vehicular manslaughter against a character beloved by millions of children worldwide isn’t something of which to be proud. However, writing this letter and taking partial responsibility for my actions? I think that’s very noble of me.

On the other hand, and I hesitate to even bring this up, but I’m pretty sure Goofy held some regressive politics (unlike me, who is very open-minded and progressive). A thick Southern drawl and an inability to use even the most basic problem-solving skills? It seems like a safe bet that at some point in his life, Goofy hung a Confederate flag up in his home. We both know you'd never catch Pluto, a dog who is an actual good boy, doing anything like that.

Now the question becomes, who is going to take care of Goofy’s son, Max? I would offer, but am I going to be expected to drive some kid to soccer practice in a CHERRY RED PONTIAC GRAND AM? Yeah, right. Plus, the likelihood that he will blame me for his father’s death and try to murder me as revenge is just too high. I’ll leave that to you and that freak duck with the sailor costume to figure out.

It might be the time to dust off those wizard skills and bring your friend back to life. I know that you’ve experimented with the dark arts in the past, like when you brought all those brooms to life with magic and made them do your bidding. Black magic, though illicit, would allow you to spend more time with your friend on this Earthly realm and also help me avoid potential jail time. Sounds like a win/win to me.

Anyway, please dispose of this letter as soon as you get it. Though I maintain my innocence, I’m sure there are people out there who would find a way to twist my words around and make it sound like it’s my fault that Goofy is dead, ridiculous as it may seem.

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