July 21, 2006

More Letters

More Letters

Though I haven't even sent these out yet. Or these.

Dear Skittles,

You're going a bit overboard with the different flavors. Yesterday I tried your "Limited Edition Ice Cream" flavors. I figured why not, the Smoothie Mix ones are pretty good. Big mistake. They tasted like bite-sized pieces of candy-coated vomit. The vanilla in particular, brought back memories of the time I misguidedly decided to drink a bottle of Stoli Vanil, jungle juice and some Blackhaus. Tasting the rainbow of fruit flavors isn't always a good thing.

Dear PSE&G "public service" workers,

Are you TRYING to get yourself killed??? I already despise the utility you allegedly represent. What would possess your idiot self to think that ringing my doorbell at 8 in the morning over and over again is a smart idea? Here's a suggestion if you don't want me to answer the door next time with a bat. Ring the doorbell once, maybe twice. Then wait for 30 seconds. Ring the doorbell twice again. Then wait some more. Do NOT, under any circumstances that don't include burning buildings, ring the doorbell 23 FUCKING TIMES. Yes, I counted. What are you, stupid? Do you think people hang out by the door, waiting for the doorbell? If you must harass me, at least give me time to get to the fucking door to tell you to fucking leave.

P.S. - All the years of "getting the meter read" has done nothing for me. My energy bills are still higher than our car payment. So you're about as much of a "public service" as genital warts.

Dear Rockstar: Supernova,

I can imagine Dana fronting a band with Tommy Lee, Jason Newstead and that "Guns N' Roses guitarist who isn't Izzy Stradlin or Slash" the way I can imagine Paris Hilton with her legs closed. I try really hard but the image just won't appear.

Dear Indian Food,

I miss you.

Dear Birthday Gods,

Last year, one of my daughters spent her 2nd birthday in the hospital with a fever of 105, while her sister spent her 2nd birthday at home wondering where Mommy was. THIS year, it's supposed to thunderstorm all day. Did someone spit in your Cheerios on July 22nd? If you agree to keep it nice and sunny tomorrow, I'll send one of their godmothers up there to blow you. Or godfathers, if that's what you prefer. To each their own. (Hey godparents, suck it up. Family first!!)

Dear Emily,

I saw your billboard outside of the GW bridge on Monday and laughed my ass off while trying to figure out if it was real. Then just now, someone posted your blog link on a message board. Even if it's a hoax or some elaborate marketing gimmick (hey guys the video looks too produced), thanks for the giggles. You're kind of crazy though. Pushing him off a cliff would take far less effort. Or you could just copy Brad's letter to Elizabeth and send it to everyone you know, like he did.

Dear meat,

You rock. Never stop tasting good with fried onions and gravy. And garlic mashed potatoes. And dinner rolls slathered with butter. And corn on the cob. I must go now, I'm hungry.

Dear flip-flops,

You are not supposed to be worn with:

a) Business suits
b) Party dresses or evening gowns
c) Slacks

No matter how fashionable people think it looks, it really doesn't. Next time your owner tries to put you on while wearing one of the above outfits, please scream and writhe off their feet. Now THAT'S a public service.


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