Maybe My Stack of Letters 2.0....

New batch, fresh for the postman... er postwoman... postperson... whateva.

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Dear cat owners,

Go to hell!!!

I’m sorry… I’m sorry. That was a knee-jerk reaction. Listen, can we talk? I feel like I need to tell you that the world is not your kitties litter box. And neither is my yard. Why is it that dogs get the bad rap on wandering neighborhoods and cats just get a free pass? My cat owning neighbors like hate us cause our dog pooped on their lawn a couple of times. Guess what? Cats roam the frickin’ neighborhood more than dogs!!! We have like three cats currently using our flower beds as their own personal kitty box. Not once or twice… morning, afternoon and evening. Day in and day out. Please do not be surprised if the cat population in Santaquin suddenly drops by three.

With all my love,

Me

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Dear Dr. Pepper People,

For the love of all that is holy- bring back the ‘Berries and Cream’!!! You are sadists. There is no other explanation. Why else would you create such goodness, let the world taste it, and then yank it away with no explanation?

That’s just mean.

Jerks.

Deeply yours,

Me

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Dear Twilight People,

Just stop.

You knew this was coming. Don’t pretend like you didn’t. Like the current tight pants fad, this has gone on way too long. My 7-year old is reading a book series called Junie B. Jones: First Grader that has more drama, humor and heart than this steamy pile of… [mother’s edit]. Just… let me get this straight, in Stephanie Meyer’s ideal world real men sparkle? Um…like a disco ball, er something? I mean, that’s weird, right? And kind of creepy too? You Twilight fans… you have given me a new direction in life. As a man who loves freedom and democracy, I have committed myself to becoming the single all powerful dictator of a totalitarian United States for the sole purpose of having the power to wipe the existence of Twilight from our history books. After I’m done with that, we can totally go back to all the freedom and the Constitution stuff.

No seriously, just stop,

Me

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Dear Ninjas (again),

I was pretty sure we had cleared things up last time? What the hell? Do you even open your mail? You guys think you’re so cool. Well… guess what? Jokes on you. Morons. You just look stupid running around in your little pajama suits and being all stealth and sneaking up on me and beating me up. It’s not funny anymore. It’s just creepy. Like on a Creepy Scale of 17.0 (with 17 being like a pedophile and 0 being a cute cuddly baby) you guys are topping out right around 13.4. That’s seriously creep-O. So stop.

Hugs and kisses,

Me

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Dear Good ol boys, Red necks, white

trash and all supporters of the mullet,

There is something to be admired in your courage and determination. That said, even the Japanese finally surrendered. The mullet, in all its majesty, has stayed its hour. It’s done. The “party in back” is over… and there is no after-party party. Take one last picture and then cut it off. I speak especially to the femullets. My gosh those things are awful! Some people have style, some people have bad style, and some people have no style. And the femullet is totally something else. Somewhere not even on the “style spectrum”. We love you. We love the vigor and valor… no matter how misguided. But we collectively shout “CUT IT OFF!!!” For real… no seriously… go on… should’ve been done like twenty years ago.

Truly, Madly, Deeply,

Me

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Dear Childhood Friends,

Remember how at sleepovers we used to put the hand of the first person to fall asleep in warm water to try and make them wet the bed? Too funny! And remember that time we decided to try to take it a step further, so we boiled the water for like ten minutes and then stuck that kids hand in it!!! He did more than pee his pants! Remember how he had those third degree burns and had to get skin grafts and was like in the hospital forever? And remember how our parents had to collectively settle that frivolous little law suit to cover his medical costs? Oh my gosh! We had some good times. Dang we were funny. I miss you guys.

All my love,

Me