Maybe My Stack of Letters:

I need to get these sent...

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Dear Ninjas,

You already know where this is going. I am sick of you. I get it, okay. You can beat the crap out of me. You can sneak up on me, and then beat the crap out of me. Seriously, enough already. Go find some other lame white guy with no skills to mercilessly beat the crap out of with your ninja fu. Bastards.

Kind regards,
Me

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Dear Mr. One-upper at work,

You’re right. You do everything better, faster, longer, stronger, straighter, more difficult, easier, harder, shorter, lighter, more Christmasy, more spiritual, more manly, more metro, more cowboy, more emo, smarter, darker, heavier, on more continents, with less and more talents, with both feet or one, with right and left hands, sixth senses, catlike agilities, with bigger budgets and no money at all, more like your great great dead grandpa and less like mine, in big cars or small, on land or on sea, on earth, mars and beyond. You rock. Because you have told us—we all now know. Thanks.

Yours truly,
Me

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Checker-Lady at Walmart,

I understand that you have been indoctrinated by management with the concept of full 100% customer service. However, I am not shopping at Walmart for a friend nor for small talk. I do not mean to be rude, but I am not interested in talking about each item as you scan it, how much you like it, what I great price you think it is, or how many you bought for your daughter. I don’t want to talk about the weather or how long your shift is today. I think the best way to serve me is to both quickly and efficiently scan my items and let me be on my merry way.

Warmest greetings,
Me

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Dear Moms in Teen Clothing,

Ummmm… this is awkward. But, did you know that you’re a mother and not a teen fashion model? If you haven’t caught on to the concept, I really don’t think my letter will change anything.

Yours truly,
Me

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Dear Guy at Wingers Yesterday,

I was quietly enjoying lunch with my wife and son when you so rudely interrupted… with your B.O. From one table over. Hey buddy, I like my wings. Do you really feel like you need to take that from me? You’ve already ruined the D.I. for me. I think it was totally inappropriate of you to come in there and ruin my lunch like that. I mean- who do you think you are? I guess my letter isn’t to tell you to bathe… just let me have my wings please?

All my love,
Me

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Dear Knees,

I am not sure if you are aware, I am 32 years old. I would REALLY appreciate your consideration of my age before you start acting all old and crap. I would like to play basketball once in a while, without taking a bottle of ibuprofen afterward. I think it is absurd how you pout when a low pressure storm moves in. I am still working on presenting myself as a sexy robust man to my wife, so limping around like a grandpa is cramping my style if you know what I mean! Little help! Throw me a frikkin’ bone here buddy.

Deeply yours,
Me