Short Open Letters

Dear Radio Station DJ:
Shut up and just play the fucking song already. You're not funny.

Dear Guy Who Says “Renig”:
It's reneg, not renig. It's short for “renegotiate”, and has nothing to do with race.

Dear Chick Who Misuses The Word “Literally”:
You did not “literally” explode with anger. You “figuratively” exploded with anger. Please reserve the word “literally” for things that are literal.

Dear Jane Fonda:
Please stop showing up at our peace marches. You're not helping.

Dear Midgets:
I'm sorry, but I'm not going to refer to you as “little people”, and am baffled as to why you would prefer that label over “Midgets”, which sounds much less demeaning.

Dear Asshole:
Go fuck yourself, ok pal?

Dear News Journalists:
There is no “War on Terror”. There is a war with Afghanistan, and a war with Iraq (which is actually more of an occupation). The “War on Terror” is an advertising term. Save advertising for the commercials.

Dear Tornadoes:
I don't know what it is you hate about trailer parks, but keep up the good work.

Dear Extraterrestrials:
If you don't want us to see your spaceships, then turn the lights off. You guys are trying to sneak around up there and you're lit up like fucking Christmas trees.

Dear Lou Dobbs:
I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's just something about you that I don't like.

Dear Pink Floyd:
Which part of “The Final Cut” do you not understand?

Dear Neil Young:
I liked you better when you were on smack.

Dear Dick Cheney:
You should shoot someone in the face again. That was really funny.

Dear CIA:
Please stop sending me secret messages encoded into my alphabet soup.

Dear Guy with Big Muscles:
We get it. You have big muscles. Now go buy a shirt with sleeves.

Dear Cows:
Thank you for all the hamburgers. Some of them were not all that delicious, but I give you an “A” for effort.

Dear Guy Thinking About Buying A Hummer:
Penis enlargement surgery is actually less expensive and won't fuck up the environment.

Dear Uranus:
Clean up your act, pal, or you'll end up like Pluto.

Dear Public Radio:
If I give you $10 will you shut up and give me the goddamn news?

Dear Children:
You are the future. so I guess we're fucked.