Tag Archives: open letter

Open Letters

Dear Mosquitoes,

I know my curves are delicious, but they are not for you.  Consent is important.

–E

 

Dear Smalls,

When I say “please don’t kick me”, gently placing the soles of your filthy feet against my body and then pushing off with them is an asshole move.

Love,

Mommy

 

Dear Costco,

You do not stock enough of the chocolate-covered almonds I like.  This is unacceptable behavior.

— A chocolate fiend

 

Dear Bernie Sanders,

YOU HAVE LOST, okay?  Kindly sit down.

— Everyone

 

Dear Proudfoot the Australorp,

Your job is to turn kitchen scraps and weeds and bugs into delicious eggs.  Nowhere in your job description does it say “be a total dick by hopping the fence multiple times a day in some vain attempt to eat the peas growing in the garden.”

Knock that shit off, because you are a dual-purpose breed and three of us eat chicken.

— Your humans

 

Dear Donald Trump,

OMG STAHP.  Get some therapy and work on yourself, and in the meantime don’t be airing that shit you believe in public because it’s dangerous and disgusting.

— Me

 

Dear Sharis,

That strawberry ganache pie you make is fucking delicious.  But every time I order it, your employees are like “Oh, the strawberry chocolate ganache?” and that undermines my faith in your food because, and I loathe that I have to even say this outright, GANACHE IS CHOCOLATE BY DEFINITION.

I notice that these same employees are never saying “Oh, you mean an egg omelette?” which would make exactly as much sense.  Omelette = eggs + milk + whatever, ganache = chocolate + cream + whatever.

I don’t expect you guys to be Julia Child; I am aware that it’s a diner, but not telling your staff what the items on the menu are is clearly not working out.

— Me

 

Dear student loan companies,

Yeah, I know that I will pay more over the lifetime of my loan because I’m on a reduced payment plan now.  But if I could pay more now, I wouldn’t have qualified for the reduced payment plan, so I’m not sure why you’re wasting my time and your money sending me mail about this fact unless it actually is the purpose of your existence to trigger my anxiety and depression.

Fuck you.

 

Dear the ’90s,

I still don’t miss you.

Smooches,

Elizabeth

 

Dear Gen X,

You used to be cool.  What happened?

— Milennials