Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Dear Ghetto Girls of PG county,
My only salvation from your angry fists was the ability to make jokes. I also let you play with my "white girl hair." Boy did you hate everyone else though.
Dear Greasy Face,
I can't wait until I am rich enough to have you surgically removed. In fact, I will have all of the Hispanic traits removed from my body so that I may live a long, un-greasy, tall girl kinda life. That way I will grow 'up' and not 'out.'
Dear Morning Commuter,
Looks like you enjoyed that sparks and packet of Sour Patch Kids... Breakfast of Champions!
Dear Department of Juvenile Justice,
Never judge a kid by her misdemeanors. Judge her by her piss tests!
Dear Kylie Minogue,
You are the reason I don't throw money at depression.
Dear Nostalgia Channel,
You remind me of the final shot in The Shining, where the camera slowly zooms in on a creepy party photo.
Dear Tim Curry,
My friend mistook what I said today. I said: "I used to watch Hanging With Mr. Cooper starring Mark Curry," and he heard: "I watched a combination of Martin Lawrence and Tim Curry." Then I threw up.
Dear Tim Burton,
The Nightmare Before Christmas honestly scares me. I consider it a horror film.
Dear Sentimental Side,
Of course I'm going to take you to "500 Days of Summer." Stop nagging me, you brat.
Dear Sour Cream and Onion Chips Without Ridges,
You have no business in the snack aisle. You are a pathetic alternative because you lack personality.
When people stare at my legs I feel there meddling concern. They don't know I got those marks from being completely ungraceful/totally lacking vertical talent.
Dear Ted Danson,
Remember when you and Whoopi were dating, and you guys thought it would be hilarious to paint you up on black face? I told you I wouldn't let you forget it... and I am a woman of my word.
I learned more about the ups and downs of life sitting in your smoke-filled food dungeons, than I did anywhere else. I also learned a little bit about my body.
Dear Middle School Bully,
I hope you grew into those sholders, that neck, those arms, those calves. You were such a big girl!
Dear American Apperal,
You gratuitous ad campaign reads like a night straight out of a bathroom stall at (insert williamsburg bar here). They have also hindered my ability to get aroused at anything but hot orange tanks.
If they loved you just as much as anyone in the family, why did they make you live in the drive way?
I was born in you, and so was the Hulk Hogan era!
Dear MTA employee,
I argued with you for two reasons: 1. Because I found a wallet and you refused to take it to lost and found, and 2. Because I had nowhere to be for an hour.
There is nothing I like more than eating a slice from your oven, and watching some 90s programs on your little TV.