Dear girl,

Get your hand off my dick...especially when I find out later that you have a boyfriend.

I'm out,

P.S. Stop being 19 and immature.
Dear men who wear mandals,

DEALBREAKER. I'm sorry, but if you are wearing strappy leather sandals (with or without velcro), I can no longer think of you as an attractive human being. I know it's unfair, but you look like your mother dressed you. Besides, those in combination with your Tommy Hilfiger carpenter jorts are making me want to vom.

i'm also guessing there are moobs under that short-sleeved button down,
Dear bitch suitemates in college,

I'm sorry I pissed in your shampoo bottles and then never told you.

My bad,
Dear PostSecret,

Thank you for ruining my faith in people. I used to be a pretty trusting person, but after reading one sick confession after another on your website, you have turned me into a paranoid schizophrenic. Now I can’t help but wonder: is the culinary artist at Wendy’s whose nametag reads “Bertha” masturbating with the carrots before she cuts them up into my delicious cobb salad? Was my high school girlfriend’s vagina real or was it a surgical masterpiece? It did look kinda funny and I always wondered why her “clit” had smegma around it. Since it’s only safe to assume that the rest of the world is bending me over and fucking me from behind, then I’m at least gonna push back (btw girls, the pushback is common courtesy). So here are my top 5 recent secrets. They should be flooding your mailbox soon:

1. I babysat a mute kid and pulled down his pants to compare. He beat me out in the flaccid category, but I managed a tie with the little bastard once we were both hard. The erection is the great equalizer.

2. I snorted cocaine…off a toilet…in the women’s bathroom…at church…with the preacher’s wife.

3. I realized the slow disappearance of my milk coincided with my roommate leaving for work every morning with his piping hot cup of Java. So I refrained from masturbating for an entire week and then unleashed a Peter North-sized load in what was left. Do you like cream with your coffee bitch?

4. I recently developed an eating disorder. It’s called cannibalism.

5. I talked to a hot girl at the bar for 30 mins and bought her drinks while she waited for “company”. When her “company” turned out to be her boyfriend, I put my hand down my pants and gave my undercarriage a good, long swipe right before I introduced myself and shook his hand. I hope she now has a UTI.

Fighting fire with fire,
Dear Grey's Anatomy,

You must've heard my cries about your suckiness lately. The penis fish was a nice comeback. I can't wait for this week's 2 hour special, but can Addison maybe take Callie with her to her new spin-off? I really don't like them. Can we nix the Izzie/George crap, too?

NOT looking forward to the season ending,
Dear IcyHot,

You're my new bff. I like you a lot even though you make me smell like an old person/wint-o-green lifesaver.

Dear mysterious bitemarks on my neck,

I'm slightly alarmed because you seem to have only gotten bigger and redder. I'm hoping I won't be a quadriplegic by the end of the week.

Dear Bed,

I'm so glad you're comfortable because I have barely gotten out of you all day.

Going back to you,
Dear 100 Calorie Packs,

You are the biggest bullshit of my life. I didn't ask you to ration yourself for me, thanks. Whoever invented the term "portion control" is clearly a loser. Don't people know that eating, much like everything else, is a competition? Why stop with one serving, if you can do more?! More is always better, especially when there is beef or chicken involved. If I don't finish my plate, I feel as if I've failed. This may be due to the horrible ploy my parents created as a child called "the clean plate club". Not wanting to ever be considered a nonmember, I strive to eat massive amounts. Considering that I am no longer a "growing girl", maybe I should question this mentality. Oh wait, i don't care. Maybe I will when I'm morbidly obese.

Ok yea, I'm gonna need like 10 of you,
Dear Justin aka "Daddy",

Thanks for driving me this morning at 6:30 a.m.. You are super nice slash saintly for doing that. Heart.

Mama loves you,
Dear nap,

You're the best.

Dear Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness(DOMS),

I'm anticipating the devastating effects you will have on my body which will come to a zenith in the next 48 hours. Considering the fact that my ankles already ache, my calves are cramping, my thighs feel like they've been punched 80 times, my hips are killing me, and my ass is searing, I'm thinking this is going to bad.

Dying after 13.1,
Dear my fave manwhore,

I think I would look great in your hottub, therefore, I'm inviting myself. Call it uncouth, but my aching bod will need it tomorrow. Also, you owe me for bailing out when you were supposed to be my original running partner.

K Great...and do you have any beer?
Dear Jim Halpert,

Really....just put it in Pam. Everyone knows you two belong together. Admit it to yourselves and BANG already.

Eagerly awaiting/living vicariously through your unstoppable attraction,.
Dear Paul,

Keep it in your pants.

Love you,
Dear A's legs,

Keep up tomorrow. Don't disappoint anyone.

No Pressure,
Dear 28,000 other people,

Sometimes I overexcite myself and this is one of those times. I cannot express how much I can't wait to run with you tomorrow morning. I'm likely to be the girl having a seizure of glee or starting lame chants at 7 a.m.. GET READY.


P.S. this is like Christmas for me, so I'm guessing i won't be able to sleep a wink thinking about the glorious pain i'm going to be in. yes yes YEEES.

P.P.S. Ugh, I can't even take this.
Dear everyone,

If you don't know why I love my friends, here is why. Text messages received in the past week:

"I'm high"
"You're the best lesbo lover I ever had"
"i'm blazed as tits"
"i'm a dyke"
"i lurveyou i.m drnk"

Dear guitar guy on stage in a bar on 2nd avenue,

You're very handsome. When you smiled at me through the window with prolonged eye-contact I immediately hoped you would write a missed connection about me. I heard you say "who's that pretty girl?" into the microphone and it made my ego inflate 20-fold. Go to craigslist and profess your undying love for me, I would probably respond. Also, we might make cute babies.

Dear bizarreness,

Last night I had a dream I was asked to catch a bunch of snakes. I wore a friendly one like a scarf. This morning i woke up with 3 bite-marks on my neck. Is my ESPN trying to tell me something?

Dear Borderline Cybersex,

You are getting out of hand. All was fine until I realized I was sitting in a library with at least 30 other people around me talking about railing a man with a strap-on. This is only leading me to further sexual frustration than I was already experiencing and I'm done with it. Also, I'm so guilt-ridden, I feel like a Catholic. This is reminding me of how I felt after that one time I mounted a whole basketball team like they were bulls at the rodeo in their locker room after a big win(the best part was when the mascot nailed me from behind). The dirty talking is dunzo, for it is futile. No sir, no more.

Instant Messaging Slut Reformed,

P.S., Does AOL make chastity belt buddy icons? Because if so, I'm totally get one and locking that shit up.
Dear Half Marathon,

Please let me be able to complete you. If it means I have to walk with a limp for a week it will be worth it.

Eye of the Tiger,
Dear Blog Nerd,

I declare a moratorium on posting AIM convos on all blogs, to be lifted never. You and your friends are not half as witty as you think you are.

Quit boring me and blog more about your sex lives please,
Dear Bed,

Get ready.

Dear Responsibilities,

You hold me back. If it weren't for you, I would have much more time for the things i like to do which include, but are not limited to: watching tv on demand while eating homemade guacamole, facebook stalking, making out, tanning, drinking alcohol in excess, and dancing to hardcore rap music.

Thanks for keeping me straight,
Dear Food,

I have what most people call a problem/addiction. I ingest you in very large amounts, and have done so for many years/all my life. It is my belief that my consumption of ungodly amounts of you is in some way connected to the starving kids in Africa. Somewhere in the near future I am going to have to start cutting back bc you and my body are just not getting along as well as you used to. Given the choice to eat you in ridiculous amounts, or sport a rockin bod...well you know.

Still obsessed with you,
Dear floor,

I haven't seen you in ages due to all of the clothes I have covering you.

I miss you,
Dear Avocado,

Why do you taste so good in my mouth?!

That's what she said,
Dear Firecrotch,

I'm sorry to break the news to you, but you will never date my friend. It doesn't matter that you went to Harvard Law and are now pursuing a career as a surgeon. That doesn't make up for the fact that you are only moderately attractive. No one cares that you owned your own company or that your idea of a romantic gesture is buying her a book about how to get into med school with a message scribed in caligraphy inside. What the fuck does "I feel a mutual resonance between us" even mean?! You two are not the brass section of the marching band. Also, just because she never asked, doesn't mean she didn't find out you are 40.

Hold onto that Rx notepad for your Viagra,
Dear Hair,

Consider this your last warning to get your shit together and act right. I realize that you think that heat plus humidity gives you a reason to frizz out, but really.... don't you think thats a bit immature and overdramatic?? You're like one of those bratty kids that is just awful on most days (especially important ones), and then you pretend to be an angel and are perfect on the most random, unnecessary days. While I understand that this is a game for you, I'm the head bitch on which you are growing, and you should consider this game over. I will totally pull a Britney Spears on each and every one of you. Don't test me.

I'm pulling the plug,
Dear Grey's Anatomy,

Why are you not grabbing my attention like you used to? The last 2 new episode have been mediocre, at best. You're just not doing it for me anymore.

Please go back to your old ways,
Dear gay-dar,

Never have you failed me like you did last night. The boy with the pink shirt and lispy voice got nexted as a gay in the first 5 secs. Until I yelled at the girl sitting next to him for being a prude because she doesn’t “curse, lez out, or take it up the ass” and aforementioned boy spoke up in anger on her behalf…because he was her fucking boyfriend. How could you be so faulty? Were you made in Taiwan? With such an error in judgment, you’ve left me no choice but to question my own sexuality.

Riding the fence until you get your shit together,
Dear golden shower,

Thanks for reminding me that it's better to give than receive.

Putting your wisdom into practice,
Dear female ejaculation,

I'm sorry you're so misunderstood. Ignorant men stifle your creativity and confuse you for the golden shower. Others who have never experienced you doubt your very existence. Don't let the nay-sayers get you down. Much like Prince's attempt to turn himself into a symbol, you're just ahead of your time. But that doesn't mean you're wrong. Just because the rest of the world frowned upon Hitler's attempt to eradicate an entire race of people doesn't mean it was a bad idea. You broaden my horizons. Because of you, I look at the vadge in an entirely different way: like it's a squirt gun and my fingers are the trigger. If you were the Bible, I'd be an evangelist spreading the truth of your gospel. I'm the Billy Graham of squirting, saving lost and lonely souls two fingers at a time.

Your biggest fan,

P.S. Just because I'm your biggest fan doesn't mean I enjoy sleeping in a puddle of soaking wet sheets. So if you're gonna come knocking at my door, at least have the fucking decency to bring a few towels. Love you, mean it.
Dear Males,

Remember the good-ole-days when testosterone ruled your very being? Yeah, wtf happened? You all have turned in the blubbering messes. Can't I please find a guy who hasn't suppressed his emotions so much, that when he finally lets them out, he isn't a huge mess?! I, for one, love testosterone and its effect on men. I'm not a lez, so don't make me feel like one. If I wanted to wear the pants, I would castrate you and then take over so there was no mistake about my decision and intention. I heart the 'bad boys' simply for their testosterone and tendency to manhandle. Pussy just isn't appealing.

Get your shit together,
Dear "BP Girlfriend"/longtime friend of mine/lesbian lover,

The fact that he spoons with you is cute. However, it is alarming that he has made no attempt to show you his manhood. Here is how I assess this situation:

PRO: He clearly has no balls, so you never have to worry about him talking to other girls, let alone fucking them. So, at least you know he is incapable of cheating.

CON: Your vagina may fall off.

Grab him next time you guys make out and if he still plays shy with his cock in your hand, then he is clearly a pussy and if you wanted that you would be more of a lesbian than you already are.

Dear Mr. Apt,

We first met about 3 months ago at the mailboxes at B.P. You told me you hate the fliers we get in our mailboxes because you always throw them away and one day you're afraid you'll throw away something important. I laughed because I was embarrassed and shy and I had a giant crush on you. I thought you were cute.

Fast forward to the end of March when I saw you getting out of your frat-star SUV, adorned with Ducks Unlimited and Kappa Alpha Order stickers. I decided to stop and introduce myself. You were wearing soccer shorts and you grabbed your balls in front of me more times than I could count. You asked for my number. You called me on my birthday like you said you would, went out with me, bought me flowers, opened doors, bought shots, stayed sober, and took me and my drunk roommate home. You were too good to be true.

It has now been 3 weeks. I spend almost every other night with you. I walk around your apartment in tiny boy shorts and barely-there tank tops. I make sure my incredible rack is hanging out all the time. I wear short skirts. I make suggestive comments. I sit on your couch with my legs wide open. Yet you never make a move. I am starting to wonder; are you gay?

I'm getting sick of it. I'm horny and I want ass. Hook up with me or leave.

Can a girl get a piece?!

Your BP Girlfriend
Dear Vodka Promoters,

Thanks for inviting me to your "exclusive" vodka-tasting party in Washington, D.C. even though I don't live there anymore. It seems like a totally classy event, what with your "non-transferable" email invitations and suggestion that I wear "cocktail attire" so that I may enjoy your "caffeine and guarana-infused" drink. Am so bummed I can't be there.

Reality check: It's just booze. Please do get over yourselves.


Dear "Penus Power",

Fuck you. It's called having a brain...and p*ssy control.

Ejaculate somewhere else,
Dear My Anatomy,

Thank you for gracing me with a fabulous set of breasts. Goldielocks would love them because they're not too big and not too small. They're JUST RIGHT and look delicious in low-cut shirts. Just saying.

They also fit nicely in manhands,
Dear Nice Lacoste Button Down,

I know I treat you like shit...and I'm sorry, you deserve better. I know you love it when I put you on and look nice. Unfortunately, every time I put you on my body I get extremely drunk and either jump into a bush, fall onto a table full of salsa, or get thrown into a pool. Someday I will wear you when there is no alcohol involved. Until then you will have to continue your relationship with that handsome bottle of stain remover.

Someday you'll shine like new again.


PS: You know you were on sale right?
Dear Heidi Montag,

Why are you such a bitch to LC? All she did was comment that you did not call her after the sex tape scandal. Did you really have to tell US Weekly that you were recovering from your plastic surgery? Now instead of looking for evidence of an LC/Jason sex tape online, I find myself looking for pics of the new you. Boobs and nose? Were you afraid that we would not notice? Way to try to get yourself back on the C List.

Now on to your “boy”friend Spencer. He sucks. Not only does he use more hair product than any other cast member on The Hills, he is on tape treating your relationship as the joke that it is. Why would you still be with him? 9 million viewers cannot be wrong.

Worried that you had a lobotomy rather than rhinoplasty,
Dear part-time employer,

When I accepted a position in your crappy swimsuit store, I expected more from you. I admit this was my personal mistake. Why should I expect a crazy woman and a court jester to be able to run a company? I am beginning to think your date planners include:
1. go shopping/surfing
2. pretend we are human
3. run potentially successful company into the ground
4. Attend seminar: “How to motive your employees” (Speaker: Naomi Campbell)

Although I recognize that you are “important”, I am quick to remember that you are also incompetent.

Really interested in helping to make you rich,

P.S. I should get hazard pay for having to help grossly overweight women find suitable beachwear.
Dear Research Methods Paper/Professor,

Every relationship has its ups and downs. Our little threesome has been especially rocky. You, professor, let me skip class (because it is a waste of my life) with no penalty because I don't think you notice due to your pregnancy. I love when you forget to take attendance! However, you, 15 page paper, are RUINING MY LIFE!!!!!! I'm breaking up with you and ignoring the fact that you are due tomorrow.

I'll probably fail your class,
Dear Walgreen's Manager,

I appreciate your helpfulness in the cotton ball section today. As you were describing the benefits of organic cotton rounds, I found myself looking for the Used Car section of your superstore. I can't help but wonder if your sales skills could be better utilized in another setting. While no other store manager has taken the time to offer an in depth analysis of cotton balls, I think maybe you care too much. Please take this friendly suggestion under advisement.

a new cotton round convert,

P.S Could it be that you really wanted to ask me out? If so please take the phone number off my supersaver application and call me. I have always wanted a man with knowledge in the cotton industry.
Dear Disgusting Males Who Love to Whack it While Driving,

While I'm flattered that you correctly recognized that I am so bangin' that looking at me can easily produce a successful hand job, I must say I'm grossed out. You must be:

A) a desperate retard
B) seriously too busy for 'down time' or
C) just a total sickout.

I'm not giving you the benefit of the doubt, so I'm assigning you to option C. Please, take your probably diseased parts out of the window, and back into your pants, and never repeat this scenario again.

You'll never get my goodies,

P.S. I saw the wedding ring on the hand with which you were pleasuring yourself... I must say this confused me. Were you trying to invite me to a threesome, tell me you were leaving her for me, or just trying to make me jealous....?
Dear God,

Please be with the friends and family of the victims of the Virginia Tech Massacre.


P.S. I am having a lot of trouble making sense of all of this, I really don't think there is any.
Dear Guy in Van With Anti-Tailgating Manifesto in Vinyl in Rear Window,

I promise not to tailgate you if you promise to at least drive the speed limit. The speed limit in this town is 35 not 25 (or 15 around corners).

Yours in driving safely,
Dear drum playing jerk in the apartment above mine,

I realize that it may be your dream to become famous and that is why you insist on pounding away on those drums for hours every day. Let me take a moment to shatter that dream, because all these hours of practice aren't helping. And may I suggest something? If you insist on continuing, find some other place for band practice, because you make me (and my cat) insane during these long afternoon hours usually reserved for my nap. Plus, you're giving me a headache.

Find a new career goal,
Dear Seasonal Allergies,

You've gotten me again. Busto.

Pollen is sick,
Dear Undergraduate White-Hat Wearing Frat Star,

I don't know if you are aware of this, but you are currently in MY secret workspace in this library. I know it isn't technically mine, but no one has ever posed a threat to me. Imagine my shock to see shaggy locks peeking out from my niche! Whatever, have fun. I hope it serves you well, but just know that my night is completely thrown off now, and I'm a grad student therefore it's an unspoken rule that I'm better than you.

Dear Fool Whose Entrance Card Got "Demagnitized",

I'm sorry, but I could not help but laugh at your expense today. I told you that you shouldn't tailgate people into our apartment complex because your car would get hit by the security bar. I like how you assured me many times over that it wouldn't and then proceeded to speed in behind someone prefacing it with "i have this perfected. see, watch this." I don't know why you felt the need to show off in front of me, a sweaty pedestrian just trying to stretch out after my leisurely jog, but things really did not work out in your favor. It's really a shame that your pride cost you a giant dent in your Beamer SUV. Maybe I should have told you I'm never wrong?

Dear Guy at the Gym in "Heart of Dallas" Tee,

I would appreciate it if you could make it a little less obvious that you are blatantly staring at my vajin(i with an accent) while I do crunches and bench press. I'm sure you are enjoying fantasizing about penetrating me while lifting those heavy weights with your big strong muscles, but don't let your elevated testosterone level fool you into thinking that might ever actually happen. I used to be a cheerleader, so I am very comfortable with people staring at my crotch, but come on, try to be at least a teensy bit more discreet next time. thanks.

Dear Justin (I desperately want to fuck you) Timberlake,

If I was a sick and dying child, and the make a wish foundation came to me, I would wish to sit on your face and bring sexy back all over it.

I Want You,
Dear Larry Birkhead,

Congrats to you, paternity test winner! I never doubted that you and Anna had a steamy (Loratab induced) love affair resulting in the child we all know as Daniellyn. I always knew Howard was a complete charlatan, especially after his phony meltdown on Access Hollywood. Now go out and purchase a diaper-genie, you goofy bastard.

Dear Small Children, Gay Men, and Grandmas,

I like you because you tell me how pretty I am and make the completely false assumption that I must have at least 100 boyfriends.

Thanks for the Self-Esteem Boost,
Dear One of the Owners of Blue Bar,

Thank you for refering to me as "baby", as if I was yours every time you gave me another Miller Lite. Under normal circumstances, I would be slightly creeped out because of the way you were saying it and the bedroom eyes you were giving me, but I found it endearing considering no one has called me their baby in quite some time. I am concerned that it actually slightly turned me on.

Standards Lowered,
Dear Car Mechanic,

Why am I always at your mercy? You are greasy and smell dirty, yet I always feel willing to do anything to make you like me. Please like me. Please.

On my knees in a puddle of oil,

P.S. Do not explain each detail of my auto problem. I don't understand you. Just tell me the damage. Fix it and let me pay. Oh and like me.
Dear Lying Ex,

I don't know what I ever saw in you. I like how you conveniently come into my life to ask how I am every so often. Frankly, I don't care to tell you how I am, and more importantly, I don't care how you are. Your conversation bores me, it always has, and I have no interest in it. We did have fun that summer, however, I am extremely unattracted to you now and do not wish to maintain a friendship. You were never funny enough, I can't stand fake people, and you are much better on paper than in real life. Way back when, I did think you were very cute, and took pride in the fact that every other girl at camp was jealous that you would vie for my attention. But let's be real here, you look like a robin with your shirt off because you have so much chesthair. You also have grandpa breath.

Smell ya later,
Dear Ex-Boyfriend,

I know I never told you why, but I broke up with you for the following

You thought that "Baba O'Riley" was actually titled "Teenage Wasteland"
You argued with me about the above
I caught you playing "air keyboards" ten minutes later

Also your dick is gross,
Dear "Clem",

I denied you several weeks ago when you requested to be my friend on myspace. I'm glad you have taken it upon yourself to reach out the olive branch and extend another request. I'll have you know that I have spent many sleepless nights agonizing over my choice to reject you. This time I won't let you go.



P.S. I'm sure that the cheerleading outfit I'm wearing in my picture has nothing to do with your interest in me. You probably think I have an interesting personality and are merely looking for someone to online chat with about current affairs.
Dear Black Female Rappers,

I am highly entertained by your obscene lyrics. I think it is hysterical/totally hot that you talk about how your goodies are the shit. You come up with pseudonyms and adjectives I've never even heard of to describe your p*ssy power. Lil Kim, i hear you're like a lollipop, your "shit come in flavors". Hot. Missy, word on the street is you can put your "thang" down flip and reverse it. Can you teach me? Remy Ma, you're conceited, you got a reason. If I could do anything in life (besides learn how to be a phenomenally limber stripper) I would become a bangin black rapper bitch with massive T&A. I would talk about how amazing I was to phat beats all day long. I would show up to award shows feeling classy in clear plastic heels and pasties. I would make videos of shots of my ass jiggling in slow-motion as I winded down a pole, sipping Crys at the same time. God, that would be awesome.

A aka the Badass Bitch
Dear Cocaine,

You are the real South Beach diet.

Dear Parents,

Thank you for being so cool with me being gay. I'm sorry I announced it over email. That was curt. Does this mean that I can bang boys in your bed when you're not home?

Dear Girl living above me,

Can I interest you in some WD40, a stack of kickboards, and maybe a balled-up sock? Your squeaky bedframe along with your headboard hitting the wall are loud, but not as loud as your moans of dee-lite. Its only a wonderful reminder that I'm not getting laid at 11am on a Monday.*sigh*

Enjoying the new soundtrack to my apartment,
Dear Guy Who Emails Me 20 Times a Day,

It is obvious that you are interested, so ask me out already. If you don't fucking raise up, I will seriously stop fantasizing about banging you. I may even start doing actual work.

Dear boys that think you're men,


Laughing Forever,
Dear Mrs. C,

Thank you for preparing a beautiful sunday brunch to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord, Jesus Christ. It was lovely. Please forgive me for saying "fucking" at the table. I was merely expressing what runs through my mind and I'm sure that of your children every 5.3 seconds.

Happy Easter!
Dear Firecrotch people,

I just don't dig the whole "firecrotch" aspect of you.

Dear Real Men,

I'm looking for you. Stop hiding so f-ing well.

You're pissing me off and we haven't even met yet,
Dear Ex-boyfriend,

How is it that you can be so immature and have such a lack of common sense? I really don't get it. You seem to have the capability to read people and manipulate situations, yet have miserably fallen on your face. Do you honestly think that, after sending me text messages asking for me back for over a month, another would work? Did you really think that I would get any one of them and say, "why yes, now I WILL take you back, silly me for ignoring your previous 2 million attempts!"?? Well, hint hint, that ain't gonna work buddy. And as I've reminded you many times, its not enough. If you really wanted someone back, don't you think that you'd go to more lengths and do more things than text to get them back??!!!!!!!!!! Well i do. You obviously aren't going to do any better, so please, leave me be. At one point I thought we were compatible and that we might just work through your kindergarden years, but I simply need more..... a lot more.

Looking for a real man,
Dear Scarlett Johansson in the "What Goes Around Comes Around" Video,

I think your nonchalant, "don't give a damn" attitude is extremely sexy. You are a total sexbomb and it is no wonder Justin picked you for his video. I think my favorite part is when you tell him you are bored with his conversation. I feel that way many-a-time and good for you for expressing yourself. However, I am very disappointed that it turns out that your character is just a cheating slut. You had me captivated until you acted like a truly heartless bitch and jumped his friend. Moral of the story: Don't be a slut, or you die.

What goes around comes around, bitch,
Dear T,

I want to start by saying that I really did enjoy meeting you and think you are a very pleasant person. However, I know I told you this to your face, but I want to reiterate that stating that you are a "teddy bear" and drive a BMW is not something that sparks my interest. I understand that all you want in life is an independent woman to come home to who will let you "rub her feet while she talks about her day". I also understand that you convinced yourself that I am that girl. While you were correct in telling me repeatedly that I am very sexy, the scenario described is simply undesirable to me. Frankly, I do not, repeat DO NOT, want anyone who will let me make them my bitch, and given the leeway, I absolutely will. This is not hot. I would prefer a guy to not have a cryfest with me and make me laugh about something instead. I know that you have entered your 30s now and things are starting to get scary, but I am sure there is some little lady out there who wants exactly what your precious heart desires. I'm sure you will find her soon, and you will live very happily together taking Christmas pictures under stockings with the muff dogs I picture you having named JuJu and Princess.

Kind Regards,
Dear the Fact that I'm Supposed to be an Adult Now,

Um, no.

Dear Hormones,

You are tricky, tricky bitches. You conflict very much with my sound logic. You provide me with a consistent level of muted torture because you are never satisfied. I have decided you are of zero worth to me anymore. You turn me into a bumbling moron. Truth be told, you insult my intelligence. I am far too important slash busy to deal with your frivolity. I am done with you.

Thighs clenched tightly,
Dear My Future Babies,

Although you are merely twinkles in my eye at this point in my life, i want you to start thinking about getting really fat in your infancy. seriously. mommy will love you very much regardless, but she will love you much more if your thighs are gigantic and look like the turkey legs at the rennaissance festival.

Ok, see you when I'm like 38 or something,
Dear Nashville Weather,

Why do you tease me? Do you get satisfaction in totally getting me in the mood for summer and then leaving me high and dry when your 30 degree chills casually breeze in as if they are welcome? No ma'am. I was just getting over my disastrous winter funk and now look what you've done. My Seasonal Affective Disorder was just starting to mitigate. You've gone and fucked up my world once again. Thanks for nothing.

OH and I can't wait for you to bring your bitchass humidity so my hair can look like that of Barbara Streisand circa the 80s for the months of June, July, and August. That's gonna look really cute with all my cute dresses and strappy sandals.

Dear Dear Life,

I've missed you. I love you. I'm glad you're back in my life.

Jon Shay
Dear Webmaster,

Sorry i need affirmation of how funny my life is from your website.
I'm a needy bitch.

With Love, From Maui,
Jonny S.
Dear Whale Watching Tourists,

I admire you. Your ability to live vicariously through the whales is truly stunning., Here's the thing: we saw one goddamn whale the whole time. Just because you see "light-blue water" doesn't mean you saw any actual whales. Here's the other thing: You aren't a professional whale photographer, if there is such a thing. Bringing your 6 thousand dollar camera really insn't necessary, as you can buy better pictures of whales at a postcard shop for 25 cents. Another thing: tank tops are for fit women, not fat men. And your Kankles turn me on.

Jon Shay
Dear albino bastard in my calc class,

I know you like to pretend you're smarter than everyone else in the world, but the fact of the matter is you're still fucking albino, balding, and gross. I may see you in hell, but atleast you'll be way more sunburned than me.

Dear nerds of my dorm,

Just because your idea of fun is rubbing one out to online videos of Warcraft does not give you the right to tell me and my friends to turn our music down while pre-gaming. You know you want to be me anyway.

You just ruined what could have been a great friendship,

Dear sexual frustration,

Why do you torture me the way you do? Lately, the erotic tension has become overwhelming and unbearable, affecting every aspect of my mental and physical capabilities. It really doesn’t help when your so called friends wish to discuss their recent rolls in the sack either. For once, I want the hot story. I want the orgasmic action. So until you decide to flee my very yearning being, leave me alone.

Rough and Ready,
dear future employers,

i'm giving you permission to overlook any blemishes on my record, including simple assault. don't let this stop you from hiring your new favorite! just because i made someone bleed and was put behind bars shouldn't disqualify me from joining your team. in fact it should increase your desire for me! i don't take shit from nobody bitches!

Hire Me SOON!

Anna Badass Shaver
Dear Walmart,

Why am I so embarrassed by the way you so openly display condoms. You constantly make me and my boo do an "avoid all people around this isle" dance for god knows how long it takes the people to clear out. And, I should add, its right next to the school supplies... did you even think about the kids? And the poor old folks that don't have sex anymore because their vag's are dangly, wrinkled, and dry and their penis's are inoperable... they are just trying to pick up their 'help me not die' medicine from the pharmacy. Lord help them not have a heartattack over us fornicating kids. Finally, why must a price check always be announced with this purchase. I'm starting to think that your corporation doesn't support safe sex.

On the path to pregnancy and STDs,
Dear skinny bitches that shop and XXL's that don't,

Im tired of getting my hopes up when out shopping at Old Navy for the new and hot dresses. I was appalled at the speed with which the skinnys flocked to the store yet not so appalled at the sluggish speed with which the "fatties" didn't make it to the store. Is it a crime to be a S or a M these days, or is there just a shortage in the little asian kids in that part of the factory? These dresses DO NOT need to be worn by 3XL women. Why the hell would you manufacture such garments?? I know America is getting fatter but why are you supporting this trend? And you call yourself a trendy store..pff! And to the skinny bitches that made it out before I did, watch your back and your dress!

One less customer,
Dear Hot Guy at Gold's,

Thank you for letting me eye-fuck you every Tuesday for the last 7 months. If it wasn't for you and your hot ass, I would weigh a lot more right now. Also, thanks for coming to the gym at the same exact time every makes it that much easier to stalk you. Keep up the good work!


P.S. was it as good for you as it was for me?
Dear immature boys,

Grow up.

Pathetically waiting,
Women across the globe
Dear sexual frustration,

You consume my thought. Thats pretty selfish. Ease up.

Distracted and Irritable,
Dear ladies with grey labia minoras,

Why is this part of your vag grey?

Curious and amused,
Dear Cellulite,

You're a bitch. No one likes you. You might as well kill yourself.

Seriously, do it.

Shamed by you,
Dear leg and other unwanted body hair,

I take a blade to you and savagely decapitate you all the time. Occasionally, I even douse you with molten hot wax and rip you from your very being. Yet you still come back. Even though I am a million times larger and stronger than you, I secretly feel as though I'm loosing this war. Please don't tell.

Can't we go our separate ways,
Dear MTV's The Hills,

Thank you for providing me with so much early 20's angst every Monday evening. You make me pine for Heidi's hair, swear off men that look like squirrels, and make me wish Jen would go back to her trailer home we all know she owns. Thank you for making me realize how uneventful my life is, and how much I live through the lives of my favorite C-list celebrities. If you don't make a 3rd season, I'll become a VH1 groupie.

Looking forward to next week,
Jackie "I'm obsessed with pseudo-reality TV" Milazzo
Dear Bandos,


A and Deb
Dear random girl adorned in excessive st. pattys day gear who got angry when I was let into the crowded bar last night and she wasn't,

I can't help if it I'm popular.

Did you a favor by forcing you to go home,
Dear 250 pound woman I saw wearing a spandex bodysuit and waist belt the other night in downtown Baltimore,

One word.


Period. No question mark.
Dear random Baltimore street bums who "holler" at me while I'm walking to class,

Please stop. I know this may come as a huge surprise to you, but I actually do NOT want to have sex with you. I just don't. And while it may seem like an expression of endearment, me giving you the finger and telling you to fuck off is NOT an invitation for you to proceed with the harassment. Most girls may view a cat call as a direct invite for sex or for creating a fulfiling relationship out of thin air, and most girls may think your "rugged" appearance and perpetual state of inebriation is attractive, but I just don't. Growing out your beard and carrying around a 40 is SO last season.

Take a hint,
Dear cab drivers that tried to charge me and Townsley 35 dollars for an otherwise 15 dollar cab ride last night,

Deet dot doooot dot beep. Beep bop bo. Beep beep. Beeeep deeet. Deet.
(translation: fuck you.)

probably going to hell for writing this,
Dear guy at the poker table who spent 40 more dollars to stay sitting at the table so you could bitch me out after I took you for all you were worth and then took your 40 dollars too,

Just because I hit the flop doesn't mean you never have. And what's worse is that you were wearing a fake Rolex. I know when I took down that pot at the end you weren't whispering sonnets in that other guy's ear. You look like queers together. While I enjoy your fakey grin and your sweet 80's style rugby polo, your false tooth and greasy appearance were more than I can bear. I hope we can do business in the future.

Drinking for free on Saint Patrick's Day,
Jon O'Shay

PS: Paying money to bitch really makes you look like more of a loser.
Dear people who are uptight and act like bitches for no apparent reason,

Please avoid me. If you see me at the bar, don't have your friends watch your purse while you saunter over to strike up conversation. I don't enjoy you.

Dear People who are Uptight and Act Like Bitches for No Apparent Reason,

Nice Life. No...seriously.

Dear 8 - 5 corporate job,

I think I'm done being a Yuppy. I liked working you for awhile and having money. Now I feel like its just not worth it to sacrifice 70% of my waking day running financial illustrations and cost of living adjustments. I think I'm going to quit you and go back to school for something meaningful. I hope you will still be around in case I fail miserably.

With utmost respect,

P.S. I fucking hate wearing shirt and ties everyday.
Dear Charlotte Drivers,

If you are going to drive like you are all Nascar drivers, please stay consistent. There is no need to stop and roll down your windows at every accident. They happen, probably from people driving like jackasses. Quite cyclical isn't it?

Yours Truly,
Dear Global Warming,

Please kick it up a notch.

Dear A+ Tans,

You are such a gross place and you smell like gross coconut tanning lotions and sweat. Futhermore you're filled with orange people who are most likely members of a certain bitch sorority. I will see you tomorrow after my burn from yesterday fades.

Dear Margaritas,

I'm going to drink you tonight along with my cheese enchiladas and you are going to be delicious. You might taste even better when you come up hours later after I've had 10 of you.

Dear Fergie,

I think your fab and you have a bangin boyfriend. But I'm not in 2nd grade anymore. I don't need you to spell out words in every single one of your songs. It gets old real fast. Yes, I am glamorous and I already know how to spell it.

lovin my lady lumps,
Dear Asshole Sheriff,

I had been sitting in the same fucking plastic chair for 10 hours. Fuck you for almost making me cry when you threatened to make me sit in jail for another 12 hours when I asked you a question. However, then I remembered that you're an obese, uneducated, inbred stupid little fuck and it's not even worth my time. You spend your time power tripping over drunks and crackheads. Plus you look like you have down syndrome. I want to shit on yourface.

Dear Marijuana,

You are no longer fun to smoke but I still can't let you go. You bring me paranoia, confusion, and fear. You made me delusional and self centered,living in my own narcissistic and private world. You no longer expand my social consciousness, you limit it. You made me withdrawn and isolated. You made me too frightened and numb to open myself up to intimacy. Our symbiotic relationship is done. You are my occasional hookup now, not my regular fuck. I smoked you every day for four years. I smoke you alone all the time. Sometimes I feel more attached to you than my friends. I used to think that a week long break from you was something to be proud of. Now I think you're limiting my potential. Aren't you pissed of at alcohol--the increasing role that fiery bitch is playing in my life? She's dangerous too. Anyways, I miss you. I haven't bought you in a long time. Do you miss me too? Oh wait, you're a inanimate fucking object. I'm pissed off that many of my closest friends all smoke you and that we have a fraternity that revolves around your consumption and I don't know what friend means anymore anyways.

Dear Left Testicle,

Why do you descend so far? It's not attractive. Perk up!

Dear black woman with bad teeth,

Last night you shook your glass at me while i was taking your friends order. You also clapped your hands at me rudely as if i was blind. While I realize I am amazing, I can't do everything at once. Next time you go out to eat hold your horsies until the waitress/waiter has finished taking everyone's order and then ask politely for a refill. Got it?

Love ya,
Dear 30 year old Becky who was too old to work at a preteen boys camp,

You left your vagisil cream on the counter in the community bathroom. We found out it was yours and we are sicked out. Keep your genital creams to yourself and get a big girl job.

Friends Forever!
Anna and A

Thank you for being incredibly tacky and obnoxious, yet addicting. It’s really nice that everyone gets to hear how the happy couple met and are going to be living happily ever after. Whenever I feel the need to be sickened, I look at you.

Get a spell checker,
Dear A,

If you don't post my shit on your blog I will automatically assume that I am not funny or witty. Do not make me second guess my amazing sense of humor.

Dear lunch break,

You are too fucking short. All I want to do is aviod work by taking 2 hours to eat a sandwich.

Give me a break (literally),
Dear Left Ear,

You are such a gimp. You need assistance to perform your job. Just work dammit. Jesus heal me. You constantly screw things up. You qualify me for a disability. Frankly, you're a liability. Why can't you and Right just get along. You know, you may be working hard but the quality just isn't there. I'm going to have to let you go.

Vincent Van Gogh
dear guy at work who sits behind me,

i'm sure you think it's cute to blast your 1995 green day album as loud as possible on your ipod. however, due to your shitty $9.99 headphones, it's not cute, because i can hear every goddamn guitar riff as well as billy joe's screaming vocals. if i wanted to listen to "basket case," i'd go back to the mall arcade and wear some black jeans. at least then it would be an appropriate setting to listen to this music.

turn it down,
Dear Burlingtonites,

Please stop being so sketch and trying to hit on me in Walmart. I know I'm really hot but I'm sooo out of your league. Also try shaving and/or showering...that might help.

Dear opinionated girl in my class,

Nobody cares what you think. So shut up please. It's your fault that class always goes until the end because you won't shut your ugly face.

Nobody likes you,
Dear Spam Email that Gets Sent to Me Hourly,

I'm confused as to why you feel the need to infiltrate my inbox with such frequency. i'm also curious about the kinky porn and FREE VIAGRAAAAA you offer. one question, though: how does "poor lost mangy mongrels" as the subject of your note have anything even remotely to do with "gettting the penis you've always wanted"?

Thanks for listening.

Laura Harrison
Dear Greg Berhendt (spelling?)

Thanks for telling me "he's just not that into you." it really helps.

Dear Snack sized candy bars,

You're too small and your chocolate tastes waxy. Yet I stare at your bowl every day on my desk and always give in. I'm never satisfied, yet I reach for you again and again. Please make something that is actually worth the calories.

Dear TBS,

You're a genius for not even attempting to come up with new sitcoms, but instead fully embracing the hits of our past and realizing that nothing new can ever replace them. Show 8 hours of Raymond, Friends marathons and the same sex and the city episodes every night. I'll watch them without fail.

Dear Chi Hair straightener,

Your scalding ceramic plates keep me smooth and chic all day long, without giving away my hairs true frizzy nature. You burn me sometimes, but I forgive you because you changed my life the day you arrived in the mail.