Thursday, October 29, 2009

Assistant Anger Manager



Frou Frou,
Your name can't be Frou Frou, if your music sounds like doo doo. That is too similar... I made that connection like 3 minutes in. Get with it.

Dear George Harrison,
You don't think its even a teensy bit funny, when I fart and go "All Things Must Pass?"

Dear MTA Bus Driver,
Just cause sit I up front, in the seat adjacent to you, that doesn't mean I want to have a conversation. I wasn't at my house like "Aw, you know what... I am lonely! I'll get on the bus and sit in that seat by the front door, and hope, and pray, Mr. "wide hips" mumbles out a non-sequitur at me. Look, just take me to the fucking train station, where MTA employees respect your personal space SO much, they do everything in their power to keep from talking to you. Even when you ask them a question, they're stone-faced. You need to embrace this kind of professionalism.

Dear Guy I've Been Seeing,
Very rarely do I meet someone that exceeds my awkwardness. You are very talented.

Dear Doughnuts,
Dessert? Or Breakfast?

Windows, er, whatever controls my desktop,
Yo, if you could figure out a way to make my Gmail inbox my desktop background, that would be cool, cause I always have it open anyway, I check my mail, while I'm checking my mail, while I'm checking my mail. Sometimes, I'm check mail just to finish myself off.

Dear Ikea,
Hogbo, bogpo, dongdo- I don't give a fuck what cute-ass name you call it, MY BACK IS IN PAINBO.

Dear Shakira,
My hips don't lie either. They are constantly reminding me how hard I fell off the snack wagon.

Dear Eli Roth,
Your STARmeter went down 30% this week, is everything alright? Maybe the world is ready for Cabin Fever 2?

Dear Chris Carraba,
Let me pitch this idea to you: You, Usher, duets, collaborations, entitled "These are my Dashboard Confessions" OR "Danceboard Clubfessionals." Or you start a band called "Furtha Seem 4Eva."

Dear Ketchup Connoisseurs,
Look, OK, I know I'm supposed to "hit the 57" and yes, I know to "hit you in the face" when you yell that at me when I'm just trying to enjoy some goddamn home fries. Do not need a tutorial, or your little secrets on getting around this life.

Dear Dad,
If you give me one more gift wrapped in Hanukkah paper, I'm no longer going to believe its a mistake. You've had over a decade to go out and buy christian based wrapping paper.

Dear Dad,
Thanks for all those Slurpees.

Dear Spell Check,
Don't you fucking tell me how to spell Slurpees.

Dear Whoopi Goldberg,
I feel like if you could say something even remotely sexual and I would consider it TMI. Same for you Couric.

Dear Table 10,
Why are you acting like you won? OK, so I forgot your coffee, big deal, you win... You know what else I forgot? To go to college! Yea, that's right, I also forgot to get my life together, and stop drinking. YOU WIN TABLE TEN! YOU FEEL BIG NOW? But for real, I'm terribly sorry, and the coffee is on the house, just please don't talk to my manager.

Dear Halloween,
Just go ahead and rename yourself: "excuse for fatties to be either sexy or funny-day." OR rename yourself: "excuse for preggies to go out and get sloshed without people thinking twice-day" OR "lonely old man gets visited by grand kids he could have had if he weren't such a douche bag in his younger years-day." OR "Galloween" (just cause I know Vincent Gallo wants a day.)

Dear Rosa on Halloween Night,
What do you get the girl who had everything... but lost most of it in a toilet? A new living room carpet, for starters.

Dear NYC,
Please stop it with these signs "Best coffee in the city" or "NYC's best slice!" You could just pour your shitty coffee on me as I run to catch the bus, and I'd hope it would soak into my pores just enough to keep me going. And you pizza guys: You could just grab me by the hair and shove pizza in my face... cause I'm always chewing anyway. I got shit to do, let's skip the formalities.

Dear Taco,
If you don't have a shell, are you just a pile?

Dear Visitors,
I can listen to Ben Folds' "Brick" and mouth the words and slow dance all I want. Its your own fault if you walk into my room and see something you don't want to see. And another thing, I'm always naked during Ben Folds time, so back off.

No comments: