398thneedvilledrive

[398thneedvilledrive]

Dear “Ineffably e”,

There’s no great need to customize a Thneed, cuz my Thing can change into anyThing a body requires. You’d be hard-pressed to figure out a form or function the plain old original Thneed can’t fill. Still, there is a demand out there for personalization (mostly through different proportions or mixed materials) and I’m happy to oblige. Sometimes a customer with impeccably good taste will request a reproduction of some or other Thneed gear I designed for myself that they caught in a photo. Some want their thneed made with an exotic flavoring or scented with something other than butterfly milk. These are not off the ol’ Assembly Line but knitted by hand to the measurements in question and sold at a premium. The clients of this couture made-to-order division of the company include celebrities and notables from far and wide.

Besides that, thneeds altered to adapt more easily to a particular service (mops, beds, stuffed animals, nylons, upholstery, floss, curtains, food, toothbrushes…) can be spotted readymade on a store shelf near you, since they’re all featured in the Thneed Inc product lines. Companies can order these in bulk if they need a whole mess to outfit their employees with, but a few times a company needed something specific outside of what is already offered. In these cases, too, we were cool with whipping up whatever, according to their specifications. People know my patented Thneed fibers are second to none when it comes to quality, usability, gentleness, absorption, durability, a thorough clean, you name it.

The funkiest customized thneed ever conceived was—and it’s a tough one to call—a swanky little number laced with 24 karat gold thread and diamond dust. It also had to glow in the dark and reveal a Peter Max painting under black light, while smelling like Chanel No. 5. Oh yeah, and it had to be crocheted instead of knitted.

The requester is under wraps, but suffice it to say the cat was loaded.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

“The Once-ler Fan Club” Members:

[398thneedvilledrive]

Dear Everyone,

I’m getting the feeling we might be wanting some different Thneed-types here. Just a hunch. If I’m right, not a problem. Lucky for you, variety in the marketplace is the spice of—…the marketplace!

Thneeds come in several colors, all naturally produced by the plants themselves. Firstly, there’s of course pink, my bestseller and the most recognizable representative for all Thneeds:

Then there’s purpley, orangey, yellowy, and reddish. As best I can figure it, “fuchsia” is a sort of a variation of purpley.

Now, I was mightily thrilled to find the perfect material for my Thneed in the brightly-colored tufts of the Truffula Trees©. I’d never seen anything so cheery or gay in my everloving life, except maybe in a taffy or sorbet. Anyway, that cinched the deal on Truffula Tufts© being the choosiest choice for my invention, as far as I’m concerned. In the age of plastics, I knew my new product had to pop. And these trees were doin’ that all by themselves!

But now we’re in a whole new age, and only five original colors just don’t cut it these days. The world’s ready for expanding options, to get turned on and way out with kaleidoscopes of crazy looks. I owe it to my customer base to provide whole new Things to try on for size.

In that interest, the newest diversification measure of my product offerings is a whole new color range. That’s blue, green, white, brown, black, and tie-dye!

If there’s any other kinds or colors (or patterns or pictures or, perhaps, pop art) of Thneed you think would make a cherry addition to my line-up, drop me a line and I’ll give it a look-over.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

It’s good to see you back, Mr. Once-ler! Pardon my scribbly mess, but have you ever tried s'mores? They’re made of melted chocolate and marshmallows sandwiched between two graham crackers. Super yummy! Just don’t do what I did and get molten chocolate plastered to the top of your mouth. Ouch. Anyway, please enjoy this plate of comically-oversized s'mores.

Signed,

25-year-old-NOT-a-junior-high-student chibibug

P.S. Tell Miss O’Shmunch-ler she has the BEST name.

—–

Dear “Chibi Bug”

Same to you, sweet pea!

Uh, actually—were you here before? Regardless, welcome, take a load off, make yourself comfortable. It’s real nice of you to take the time and fix me this. Sorry I been such a stranger lately. Gee, I missed you guys. What’s it been?—a month? Two? Three? Eight? Can’t have been that long, but it nearly feels like it. I done you all wrong, and I aim to make amends straight off. Starting with answering this fan club’s backlogged letters. So stick around!

As for s’mores: yes ma’am, sure have. And they’re boss. Though yeah, that is the danger, ain’t it? But you can rest easy; I’ve developed a finesse to this whole eating melty desserts thing. You just can’t scarf the stuff. It’s all got to do with seizing the right moment to strike. And chewing method, of course. It’s an art, really. Anyway, can’t say a man can beat a confectious treat ready-made without the need for building a campfire in my office. Just goes to show the convenience of modernity. Thanks a heap!

Yours truly,

P.S. You know, I think that’s just fine! She’ll be stoked when I lay it on her that she was mentioned by one of you gir–pardon me, women. (I do usually operate under the notion that the most of you are teenyboppers, so thanks for setting the record straight.)

[398thneedvilledrive]

Dear Anony,

I’d like to tell you all a story. It’s a fine illustration of my relationship with my family.

See, we didn’t always get on.

Way back in the days before sliced bread and frozen tv dinners and instant coffee, there was a little old cabin tucked in the trees on a mountainside and I lived in it. Me and my folks, that is. We were sharecroppers down south, in the woods just west of Kinchafoonee. The place was wanting of electricity, running water, and right about anything else you can think of.

Things were tough out there; pickins were lean. There wasn’t much in the way of recreation, just what satisfaction you could get out of surviving. Everybody, big and small, had to pitch into the effort of putting food on the table. Sure, I had what diversions I could devise to bear me through the hardship and troubles…

…but up in the hills where I’m from, nobody was particularly prosperous. We all made do with what we had.

My family consisted of six relations: there was mama, my aunt, my uncle, my brothers (just knee-high to a grasshopper then),

and me.

Life can get crowded with all them kin in a one-room cabin. Eking out a living kinda tended to take the precedence over luxuries like celebrating special occasions or, y’know, basic privacy. We lived almost on top of each other, and every singular thing was as simple and raw as it gets and you had to work hard to get it. That kind of daily drudgery can wear on you.

By a certain point in my boyhood I’d gotten pretty sick of all this, and my ambitious streak had kicked in full-time. Me and my family didn’t tend to see eye-to-eye on a lot because of it. They just couldn’t understand my vision of yanking us up outta that lowly life and onto easy street. So one day, a Sunday, I decided to shake up the routine. I’d concluded that my folks must feel as tired and worn as I did, maybe even more for the child-rearing, and that they didn’t know it, but they needed a surprise. A little taste of what I kept squawking on about.

So that morning, when the rest of my family went to church, I secretly hung back and sneaked home. I snatched up my axe,

my mallet,

my fishin’ stick,

and my copy of Helen Koues’ How to Be Your Own Decorator,

and got down to business. First I cleaned the whole place from top to bottom—and then I made it purdy. I hacked up some branches and hewed ‘em into a coat rack, painted on our tin plates, twisted twigs into wreaths, tied rags and rope into bows, fashioned a stump into a centerpiece, knitted up makeshift curtains and doilies and vague unspecified hangings, draped and hung flowers and leaves all around, and lit a whole mess of candles. On top of all that (with the help of a better crop than usual this year, my lifetime savings of pocket money, a secret stash I’d been compiling, and that fishing stick) I fixed a real-life actual feast: catfish nuggets, squirrel, butter grits, pigs’ feet, hog mows, shoo-fly pie, and flannel cakes to boot.

Finally, it was all finished.

I was so jazzed about the big reveal I could hardly contain it. But then, they all came home and…

…let’s just say they weren’t too crazy about it. They didn’t take kindly to dirty “weeds” being drug in from outdoors, or to my skipping church to make a sorry looking mess of things, or to my tying up bows and painting pretty pictures. They didn’t take to any of it. Into the fire went my coat rack, which is where firewood belonged, and out into a trash heap went everything else. I didn’t catch so much as a thank you. All I did catch was a whoopin’ for wasting a day’s work.

After that I took off running, deep into the pines near the creek, where I settled under a briar patch, sat there holding the last remains of my surprise, and stewed.

Boy, was I cross. Why couldn’t they appreciate my classic, yet rustic interior design sensibility? Why couldn’t they see I was trying to improve our lives, give us all something nice for once? I was so mad I resolved to never go home. I’d strike it out on my own. I fastened together two seared coat rack shards (and plenty of other pieces of wood) into the Coat Rack 2.0: a canoe to float me down the creek to a faraway destination.

The next thing I needed was nourishment for my journey, and luckily, I had it. Earlier I’d strung a sack of berries on a tree while catching the main ingredient for my catfish nuggets, and left the provisions where they hung.

I figured I could subsist on that till I arrived. It was a little heavier than I remembered, though.

Well, I set sail down the creek for my new life. But after drifting along for a while, sure enough I was gettin’ famished and I wanted a berry. So I opened the sack.

The doggone thing was filled with rocks.

It was obvious to me who’d done it: my kid brothers. On the way home from the holler, they’d crossed by the creek, found my berries, and took them. I knew it was those two because that’s what they always did when they stole my stuff. Replaced it with rocks and thought I wouldn’t notice. They even used rocks when they stole my pillow out its case one time. Thought I wouldn’t notice. And now they’d gone and done it again, just when I needed something to survive off. I didn’t think I’d ever been madder.

I fix a big surprise for my family and all I get from them is rocks. A whole lotta rocks.

I hated rocks. I hated every rock in the river, every big jagged boulder—

—something was off. I was in a river. Sure, I knew I was in a creek, but this wasn’t no creek. The waterway had been widening and widening and now I was in the middle of a bonafide river, and moving fast. I hadn’t paid it any mind since I was so preoccupied.

In almost the same whack, I realized I was approaching rapids, the kind of rocky rapids right before a fall. And from the sound of the roar ahead, it was lookin’ to be a big one. But if that didn’t kill me, crashing into any one of those boulders would do me in just fine.

I had to think fast. Luckily, I always thought fast; you had to growing up like I did or else you wouldn’t grab up any supper from the table before everybody else hogged it up. Or else you wouldn’t reel up your fish while it was on your hook and it’d get away and you’d go hungry. Or else you wouldn’t get anything. So I assessed my surroundings, and after finding nothing else to prevent my impending demise, the answer jumped out at me: drop anchor. What I had with my sack of heavy rocks attached to a rope was an anchor, all I had to do was use it that way. So I did.

And it worked!

Just before my vessel descended to oblivion, I hit the brakes using my brothers’ rocks. Their rocks saved my life.

When I finally made my way out of that water and onto shore, I had a new perspective. Things seemed clearer, my resolve to run away seemed stupid, and everything I had taken for granted before, everything that wasn’t enough for me, was perfectly satisfying just the way it was.

I realized now that those folks at home may have been unrefined, but they labored each day from dawn till dusk to keep me alive and I did the same for them. We all depended on each other. And that was a pretty thing indeed.

As soon as I was grown I actually did strike it out on my own, and—you know the rest. All of ‘em came up to help me once I struck metaphorical gold, and we’ve been getting along swell ever since.

Yeah, they were tough on me, but my family’s actions gave me the greatest gift and wisest council a young person could ask for, which is preparation for the way the world is. I learned early on that nobody was gonna hand me anything, even gratitude. That everything I got had to be really earned, and to not expect anybody to care how hard you tried. That all people have limits, that they can only love so much and then they’ve got to take care of themselves, and to understand that and love them anyway.

My family did more for me than anyone in the world. They don’t owe me anything, because what they gave me was what they had, and what they knew to do with it. I owe them all I’ve got in return.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Here you go! I hope you enjoy~!

----

Dear Dakota,

Hey, I’m set. All the hoping you’ve gotta do is hope these beauties last the next few seconds. Much obliged, sugar pie!

Marshmallows’ve near always been my favorite confection, though I sure am partial in particular to these cool concoctions right here. You’d suppose a connoisseur like myself would happen around to a marshmallow-brownie combination sometime during his life, but, what do you know. I mightn’t’ve never come across them if it hadn’t been for you. The universe is full of mysteries as rich as they are vexing, and the only thing man can do is—well, I ain’t got a singular clue but in this case I’m gonna eat me some of them brownies.  

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Hello, I'm Dakota Jenkins. Would you like a marshmallow brownie? They're free, by the way

Dear Dakota,

Baby. Please. You never have to ask. Don’t you know that marshmallows are the balm to this man’s weary soul? If you should have the inclination, send it right on over to Ye Annex, your very own verified address for packages or veritable victuals of any variety. Same goes for all of y’all reading: if you’ve anything for the Thing King, such as whodads or doodads or desserts or whosmawhatsits or desserts or thingamabobs or, say, desserts—you can send ‘em to me directly at that address.

Thank you kindly for the generous offer, little Miss Jenkins! It ain’t every day a man can obtain a delicacy of this order for nothing at all.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Do you eat your toast butter side up, or butter side down?

Dear Miss Jaimie,

Another letter from you, and another message having something to with food. I like you. You’re speakin’ my language. But, Jaimie, I read this one once, and I read it again, because I figured I misread it, and then I read it a third time, and I tried to understand it, and I don’t reckon I misread it, and correct me if I did—but why would anybody eat a piece of toast upside-down? Maybe I’m outta touch, maybe this is one of those cryptic messages y’all’ve sent me that means something different. But if not, why? Why eat your toast butter-side down? What’s the benefit? So you can hold it like that and get your fingers all buttery?

To make it easier for it to land that way?

For an unnecessarily messy eating experience?

To adhere to a smooth surface?

I mean, help me out here. I’m old enough to remember when sliced bread came out, and I gotta say this is anything but the best idea since.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Green is a color yes it's true, but it's not very creative (of course, unlike you.) 8)

Dear Anony,

First off. Friends, I’m sitting here with a piping hot mug of Dr. Pepper thinking about that real gone cat all dressed up in red who dropped off thousands of Thneeds last night and it is very heartwarming. Congratulations to the nice kids who got ‘em. How did I know? Oh, I happen to have it on good authority.

As to the sender. So you don’t think green is creative, huh? Well, that’s your opinion, you’re entitled to it. But I’ll have to respectfully disagree with you on that one. Today especially. Y’see, green is the color of nature, youth, wealth, and, well—the Holidays. That’s probably due to several traditions, the first being the bringing in of evergreen trees from the cold forests to the merry yuletide hearth. Another being the song “Greensleeves”, which King Henry the VIII wrote about some chick he was hung up on named Anne Boleyn. Incidentally, “Greensleeves” is also something folks called me way back when. I picked the color out ‘cause of its character. It’s got that bright liveliness that’ll jump out at you in a world filled up with black suits, but still classic, y’know, something formally refined in its vibration. Due in part to the aforementioned. Kinda wild, but not too weird. In the new old-fashioned way.

Anyway, a very merry number-8-parenthesis to you too, Anony.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Dear Miss Didney,

Gotta hand it to you, honey, you’re sure persistent. Y’know, you’ve got a little touch of that good kind of crazy a body needs in order to snatch up what they want outta this world. (Just so happens I’m an expert in that field of psychology.) You’ll go far my friend--just not in this particular direction. But, I’m thinking a sharp kid like you figured on the nature of our predicament here already. Right? It’s nothing against you personal, sugar; just the facts. Yet I know you’re serious about this; otherwise you wouldn’t’ve sent me two completely identical love letters in a row! How’s about I promise you this: I’ll send you all my love in this letter,

sealed with a kiss.

Signed,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Dear Anony,

Sure do! I love Dick!

I’m for Richard Nixon in ’69 all the way. Best man for the job. Now while I’m the “Once-ler-in-Chief" I’m certainly not the Commander-in-Chief—but I’ve picked up a thing or two about politics in my time as the public leader of a fine city called Thneedville. I also know politics oughtn’t to be a subject of polite conversation, both because it’s awful boring, and because it’s rude to spout on freely about in mixed company. To be anything less than nonpartisan here would be inappropriate! But I’ll give you some idea of my reasons for preferring Dick over any other choice in this stiff competition. I mean, let’s not pretend you asked me anything else. Simple as I can tell it, here’s why I’d erect Dick President:

1.) THEY CAN’T LICK THIS DICK. There’s a “new Nixon” in town. The Republican party’s back on top these days, and Dick’s the member that stands tallest. People want reliable new leadership with the kind of fresh tricks that’ll fix us up for a bright future.

2.) DICK’S GOT MY BACK. Nixon understands that corporations are an indispensable part of the machinery keeping the free-market alive in the free world—our best guard against Communism. What’s more, he sees businesses for what they are: agents of progress.

3.) DICK GOES DEEP. The U.S. is in deep trouble now, in more ways than one. Dick means to dive right in and bring unity, peace, stability, greatness back to America. He’ll wrangle the issues that’ve gotta urgently be addressed, not the tired problems of the past. He’ll shove right through the noise to answer the call of the taxpaying, churchgoing majority.

4.) DICK’ll GIVE IT TO ‘EM ROUGH. The reality: rioting has been escalating and the crime rate continues to rise, which threatens the safety of law-abiding citizens like us. Nixon’ll be tough on crime, and he’s got it right when he says “law and order” is the only real way to progress.

Wallace and Humphrey have got their draws, but Dick’s got the qualifications to really pound out some change. It’s a tough choice between these three fellas, especially since times feel so uncertain. But personally, I like me some Dick, so “Nixon’s the one” for Once-ler.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

If you aren't the world's most intelligent, charming businessman, then I don't know who is! ^_^

Dear Anony,

I promise you, sweetheart, whoever that man may be, the art of figuring the answer cannot fall to me. The art of disguise, however, has fallen tonight on every house, street, and school: every boy and girl is a bogey, a witch, a vampire, a ghoul! As you know, I’m partway disguised every day. Well, tonight, I’m throwing a kooky bash, and I’ll be disguised in a different way.

I’m calling it the Magical Mysterious Monster Masque (that mouthful’ll sure raise the dead from their casks). Brewing up fun celebrations like these is how I strive to be the charming host you, anony, imagine me. When the weirdies and freaks from the River Styx need to get their spooky fix, they just call my hotline for some kicks—area code 519, double-0, 6. But for the uninvited there is much to fear, ‘cause the art of Black Magic is practiced here…

…under a thin but effective veneer.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Pardon me, Mr. Once-ler but what in your most honest opinion is the BEST mode of transportation?

Dear Anony,

You’re lookin’ at it!

This deceivingly simple chair is actually a state-of-the-art vehicle with all the modern trappings and conveniences. (That’s right, it’s even got an eight-track stereo tape system built right in.) Whenever it happens I need to get elsewhere in the factory, I can just hop aboard this beauty, pop in some sounds, and ride on down the halls with ease. No expense of energy, little loss of time, and efficiency is ensured without having to so much as get up out of my seat. I’ve got a whole mess of these in different rooms around the place, so no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I can speed off where I’m needed.

Zippy indoor transport—betcha that’s what every building’ll be equipped with in the future.

In the now, though, for all of you reading this at home, I’d recommend the SECOND best mode of transportation: the Öncelermobile. It’s got class, it’s got convenience, it’s got cool, it’s a gas! The choicest car on the road. And I ain’t just sayin’ that because I manufacture it. So go ahead and tell your folks, and if you’re old enough to drive, well, then, tell yourself.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

what the fuck is a once-ler

Dear Anony,

That is an excellent question. In fact, every once in a while I sit down with myself and ask me the same thing.

“Once-ler, what is a Once-ler?”

“Where is a Once-ler?”

“Who is a Once-ler?”

“Why is a Once-ler..??”

But!

A Once-ler’s not really a what, but a who. A who who brings you the ONE and only what you’ll ever need. That what being, indeed, a Thneed. That is, The Once-ler (the) is me. I’m a singular man with the simple dream to be everything to everyone, everyday, everywhere, at the same the time. All for a low, low price. With luck, hard work, Truffula Tufts©, and a little bit of magic, I make that vision a reality. Every ONCE in a while it’s necessary for a something to come along people didn’t know they needed before, yet now they can’t live without—that’s progress. A someONE needs to come along to manufacture that indispensable thing—that’s me. Y’see, in the ONE-of-a-kind way I know how, I’m aiming at serving the greater good. Once-lering ain’t easy, but if I didn’t once-ler, then who else could?

That being as it is, I’m just a guy who managed to make something of himself—in essentials no different than anybody else. And that’s just about all there is either of us needs to know about that.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

Dear “SXO 4 Ever” and “Pink Lemonade Loves Me”,

Y’all had similar questions, so I’m gonna knock ‘em out with one swing. Hope you girls don’t mind.

I’ve had an inclination for making and listening to music for about as far back as I can remember. Used to pluck the old banjo and yodel up the mountainside like any good hayseed down in dixie-land sure as you’re born. I also tried my hand at the washboard, the washtub bass, the harmonica, the fiddle, the jug, the spoons, the bones, and the mountain zither. All that came in handy when I ran off to sell patent medicines with a traveling show, which consequentially taught me the benefits of selling snake oil with the help of musical accompaniment.

But, see, things really got rolling when I found an old guitar under a shade tree by the churchyard one day when I was a kid.

It had just plain popped up out of nowhere, and I felt like I oughta take the thing, so I did. Folks got to saying I made a deal with the devil in them tombstones seeing as I got good at guitar-pickin’ so fast. But THAT is definitely, definitely maybe just a rumor. Truth is I listened to a lot of those old-time backwoods blues that was played locally and whenever I could find it on record or radio, studying it closely. Learned from the best playing right on porches out under tin roofs. From out of that, rock n’ roll came around and I was set. I even had a small rock n’ roll outfit of my own when I was a teen-ager. That is until we got run outta town on account a’ playing the devil music.

As for the kind of music I enjoy, right now I’m turned onto heavy rock for the most part!

Some modern groups I dig are: Iron Butterfly, Steppenwolf, Cream, Blue Cheer, Status Quo, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Deep Purple, The Mind Garage, Vanilla Fudge, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Doors, Buffalo Springfield, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Zombies, Yardbirds, The Band, Traffic, The Chambers Brothers, The Kinks, Pink Floyd—to name just a few. And if we’re spanning genres here, I can’t leave off mentioning the soulful sounds of James Brown, Stevie Wonder, Smokey Robinson…but I’ll cut it short there. You get the idea—I appreciate just about anything so long as the groove is tight!

What’s more, if any of you out there can give me the word on some new music, I’m always open to suggestions. I mean, if anyone’s really hep to what’s hot, it’s kids like yourselves.

Yours truly,

[398thneedvilledrive]

GOSH DARN IT I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO PULL OFF A FRESH PRINCE

———-

Dear Didney,

Well if it ain’t little miss Time Traveler, never ceasing to amaze. 

I gotta hand it to you, this is a first. I get a package with a reel in it after I send out the last letter, and find myself watching a scene from some TV program I’ve never heard of! You done gone and baffled me all over again. I can’t rightly say I know how to make heads or tails of this other than that it’s something you beamed back from the future…where you’ve also seen those movies about me. The plot thickens. I’ve got my hideously disfigured eye on you, space girl. As a matter of fact, Didney (if that’s even your REAL name), I’m only gonna send this letter to you, so it stays classified—for the protection of the American public. Besides, it’s not as if I have a sizable income to make a bunch of copies of the reel with, and to ship ‘em out to everybody so they can see it for themselves! Oh wait, I do.

Yours truly,