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Dear Policeman,
Even though you do indeed have "Kentucky State Police" written on the front of your vehicle in an unappealing shade of brown, you should still refrain from driving in my lane. I happen to be occupying that space you're heading into at sixty miles an hour, and it makes me very nervous when you do that.
Dear People Who Are Afraid of Clowns,
I'm really sorry (but if you really are afraid of clowns, you should think twice of clicking there.. Everyone else, enjoy the newest issue of Mosaic Minds!)
Dear Company-That-Shall-Remain-Unnamed,
I don't feel sorry for you. You deserve it.
Dear Mary Higgins Clark,
You, madam, cannot write. Mary, although you do appear to have the capabilities to string words into sentences and incomprehensibly have actually managed to get someone to publish your work, you lack even the most insignificant skills as a writer. Mary, I have discovered this in the course of reading one of your novels, entitled Daddy's Little Girl. Mary, I just wanted to let you know that your heroine makes me gag, and believe me when I say that my affinity for characters with trauma relating to a deceased sibling is higher than most. Mary, don't capitalize Website. It makes you look like a jackass, Mary. Mary, actually, just don't talk about your Website at all, because you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, and yes, we can tell.
(P.S. Stop using your character's name in every sentence. Mary, it's really fucking annoying.)
Dear Scarf Still On Knitting Needles,
Please finish yourself up and let me wear you. It's cold and I'm lazy.
Dear American People,
Please vote. ( And while you're there )
Dear Car In Front Of Me On My Way Home,
If you don't get off the ass of the person in front of you, you will find out what it's like to have a Buick on yours. Also, it was very cute the way you swerved out of the lane and into the path of oncoming traffic to avoid that fearsome leaf fluttering by. It might really have done some damage to that twenty-year-old Toyota you're driving.
Dear Husband,
That crack you just made about Counting Crows and the wail of a dying bird actually wasn't funny, you big dork. It was particuarly badly-timed on your part, as well, since I was just thinking that I loved that part of the song. You're mean. (I still love you. I guess..)
Dear Weekend,
I kiss the ground you walk on. I worship the air you breathe. I hold you inappropriately close.
Even though you do indeed have "Kentucky State Police" written on the front of your vehicle in an unappealing shade of brown, you should still refrain from driving in my lane. I happen to be occupying that space you're heading into at sixty miles an hour, and it makes me very nervous when you do that.
Dear People Who Are Afraid of Clowns,
I'm really sorry (but if you really are afraid of clowns, you should think twice of clicking there.. Everyone else, enjoy the newest issue of Mosaic Minds!)
Dear Company-That-Shall-Remain-Unnamed,
I don't feel sorry for you. You deserve it.
Dear Mary Higgins Clark,
You, madam, cannot write. Mary, although you do appear to have the capabilities to string words into sentences and incomprehensibly have actually managed to get someone to publish your work, you lack even the most insignificant skills as a writer. Mary, I have discovered this in the course of reading one of your novels, entitled Daddy's Little Girl. Mary, I just wanted to let you know that your heroine makes me gag, and believe me when I say that my affinity for characters with trauma relating to a deceased sibling is higher than most. Mary, don't capitalize Website. It makes you look like a jackass, Mary. Mary, actually, just don't talk about your Website at all, because you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, and yes, we can tell.
(P.S. Stop using your character's name in every sentence. Mary, it's really fucking annoying.)
Dear Scarf Still On Knitting Needles,
Please finish yourself up and let me wear you. It's cold and I'm lazy.
Dear American People,
Please vote. ( And while you're there )
Dear Car In Front Of Me On My Way Home,
If you don't get off the ass of the person in front of you, you will find out what it's like to have a Buick on yours. Also, it was very cute the way you swerved out of the lane and into the path of oncoming traffic to avoid that fearsome leaf fluttering by. It might really have done some damage to that twenty-year-old Toyota you're driving.
Dear Husband,
That crack you just made about Counting Crows and the wail of a dying bird actually wasn't funny, you big dork. It was particuarly badly-timed on your part, as well, since I was just thinking that I loved that part of the song. You're mean. (I still love you. I guess..)
Dear Weekend,
I kiss the ground you walk on. I worship the air you breathe. I hold you inappropriately close.
