ClumsyMonkey.net

^:lol:

Rusty wrote:I know! Mine's upset because I have a roommate for res next year.

o_O Mine was happy for me to have a roomate for res in first year. It's easier to make friends if the two of you wander around as a team. (This assumes that the two of you get along.) In a single room it's too easy to close the door and not talk to anyone.

Anyway ....


Dear other girl who likes the boy I like,

You seem like a nice person but I don't like the fact that you're better at flirting with him than I am. I would appreciate it if you toned it down a little.

Thanks much,
~Christa

dear mother,

FUCK OFF.

love, sonya.

I like that you signed it "love, sonya"

I like "dear other girl"...

Dear you know who again,

PS you smell good. Reeeallly good.

Me.

dear head,

matt appears to be skull fucking things.
run away.
fast.

me

dear life,

why do you fucking suck so much?

i hate you
die.

lovingly wanting you to be over,
me

dear fickle people,

stop changing your mind about whether i'm your supposed best friend or not, based on my every tiny gesture towards you. learn to fucking deal with it. you're not some royal highness.

xo
jenny

dear stupid boy at work,

please stop hitting on me 20 times a day at work. i am obviously not interested since i ignore every advance.

not lovingly yours,
melissa

dear room, desk, and kitchen table,

clean yourselves. i don't wanna.

your regretful slob,

me.

Dear car:

I hate you.
Stop breaking or I will put you the fucking scrap heap.
Piece of shit.
I HATE YOU.

dear pain in maria's mouth,

i am asking you to please get the fuck out of maria's mouth. we don't appreciate you persistently inflicting pain on us. now bugger off cause WE ARE NOT GOING TO VISIT THE DENTIST!

sincerely,
maria's teeth

dear doctors,
fuck you for telling me what i had on my face was eczema, and that moisturizer would help it. it turns out it is actually perioral dermatitis, and moisturizer actually spread it and was not helping at all. fuck you for making my face ugly and gross.
not so much love,
jillian

dear small town i live in,
why don't you have any buses? some form of public transportation? even a bus twice a day that goes into a place 15 minutes away that has buses that go other places, would be acceptable. i could live with that. stop making me rely on my parents driving me places to get anywhere i want to go. kthx.
jillian.

dear city,
stop discussing putting trains in places that already have buses. who really gives a fuck? how about putting buses in places where people have to waste all that environment-polluting gas driving cars because they don't even have one fucking lousy bus? i hate you.
jillian.

Dear old people at Yellostone campgrounds:

You think I'm an idiot because I am only 22? Did you think you were an idiot when you were 22? Just because I AM 22 doesn't mean you can walk all over me. I was perfectly reasonable with you, and you just started yelling. Well geuss, I don't roll and play dead that easily.

-shaking with anger

Dear Quebec,

Kindly stop being so....french!

kthxbye,

The kindly English.

Dear old customer at Zellers,

I am a cashier not a stock boy. It is not my job to do carry outs and thus that I agreed to step off my register and find someone to cover for me while I looked for a stock boy to help me do the carry out was a favour. Your standing around in the way was not making it easier to lift your giant awkward box onto the dolly. Neither was your muttering "be careful I don't want it dented" of any use to us, I am sure your wooden dresser or whatever the hell it was is just fine, next time you can wait for someone who is trained in moving your crap onto the dolly that kepy sliding away the instant we got a corner on it.

Cheerfully yours,

Russell



Dear manager person who only shows up for inventory.

You seem like a nice enough guy, and you always talk about doing what is best for the customer, but you see this applies to you as well. When I call down to you to ask if you can fix a bike pedal before the customer buys it since it requires tools which I as a cashier do not have I suggest you come to the cash and see it. It is not suffiencet to say "tell him we'll fix it for him next week" and then hang up on me. The customer obviously had some more questions. I do not care if your phone is dying, the customer is supposed to come first, i suggest you walk yourself over to a floor phone and call me back and sort this out. We lost a sale today because of you.

Begrudginly yours,

Russell

distance -







DIE. that's the end of it. just die. and bring back my kaelen.

Dear Claire,

I'm not speaking to you right now. I'm not very happy with a lot of things about you. I'm not happy about the way you've gained five pounds since the school ended, and ten since the beginning of the school year. You have a great job, a wonderful partner, and you still aren't satisfied. What does it take to make you happy? I can't stand how you have everything, and you're letting it all rot to dust. Do you know how irritating that is?

You know what else pisses me off? The way you keep thinking of death. I thought you were over that. And how come you're hording razor blades again. You don't use them. You're putting yourself in a bad situation right there. But then, you never could outgrow the angst, could you?

I'm annoyed with the way you can't stop crying. There's no reason for it; it's weak and pathetic, and all you do is make everyone around you feel bad. And stop avoiding the people who care; stop trying to push everyone out. Stop feeling so goddamned repressed. Stop trying to hide, run away, and pretending everything's okay. Take the help that's being offered. Stop lusting after loneliness, trying to capture privacy you know you'll only use to hurt yourself.

I hate you sometimes. You're a stupid, self-righteous, immature bitch.

So stop bottling everything up.

What happened to using the summer to write, to create music and poetry and art? What happened to your fucking dreams?

Why are you letting yourself become ordinary? I am so angry at the colourless, mindless drone you're becoming. You're losing yourself to the TV, to the bus rides, to the clothes that make you feel like a featherless bird; drab, silent, and uninspired.

You keep searching for something new; but you know you get tired of everything.

And I don't know what else to do for you.


Sincerely,

Your outraged self.

Dear Penis cake,

Why did eating you make me sick? How come delicious treats such as yourself prove to be a feast of the tastebuds and yet you avenge your eating with a violent attack on my tummy causing me a stomache ache. What is your endgame? Are you in coherts with these whacky soaghetti vegetables who like to taste like floor yet provide nutricious nutrition? I don't understand why you would do something so mean to me. This hurts.
Both figurativly and literally.

Crapfully yours,
Sarah, your consumer.