RANDOM LETTERS TO RANDOM PEOPLE
Dear Weather Dude,
Will you pu-leeze quit putting those big L’s up in the sky above Whitmore. Remember last week when you put that big H up there? It was all sunny and bright and made me sing, “Oh What A Beautiful Morning.” Now go. Change the L to an H. I’ll wait right here. The “L” makes the door to my studio stick.
Thank you so much for adding those impossible-to-open blister packs to our lives.
Really, what are these made of, anyway? This material ought to be used by the military, to reinforce tanks or something.
Dear Safeway Musac Makers,
If you must put “Three Times a Lady” in your music feed, you are just going to have to put up with my out-of-context, maniacal laughter.
See, all I hear is “You un, to, tee time da wady”
Ala Eddie Murphy’s Buckwheat.
And that’s just how it is.
Dear Dr. Dentist,
When you are getting ready to do your root canal thing, surely there is a better way to test for the correct tooth than poking it with dry-ice-on-a-stick. Why did you take all those x-rays? And how am I going to get down from the ceiling? And what are you going to do now that I cleared your waiting room with my blood-curdling scream?
Dear Teachers Everywhere,
Please take a lesson from your colleagues in LA. They chose the wrong people to hold up as exemplary citizens for their students during Black History Month. Apparently OJ Simpson, Dennis Rodman, and RuPaul are not appropriate role models for young people to emulate. The teachers were removed from the classroom.
(I am wondering…what’s wrong with RuPaul?)
Dear People Who Put The Bloody Shirt Belonging To Robert Kennedy and the Photograph of Marilyn Monroe on Her Death Bed On Display in Vegas,
You will need to wait for about a hundred more years to display the shirt without getting any negative feedback from the public. Abraham Lincoln’s bloody shirt is permanently on display in Washington D.C. and no one complains about it. It is there along with the bloody pillow he died on, the gun that killed him, and his bloody coat and boots.
However, you might want to rethink your idea of putting a photograph of Marilyn Monroe, dead or alive, in the same exhibit with any Kennedy. I’m just saying.
Dear Blanket Jackson,
I am so sorry. You are in for it, Sweetie. You must never go out into the world among other children. You will be ridiculed and pummeled. Other boys will not care that you are a beautiful child. They will not care that you had a famous father. They will only be interested in taunting you because your name is Blanket.
Dear Rush Limbaugh,
Did you know that your voice is being used to deter the vicious Bark Beetles that have killed twelve million trees in California’s national forests? I knew you were good for something.
Dear Teenage Girls,
Vampires aren’t real.
Dear People Who Send Me “Public Notices” That Look Like Traffic Tickets or Semester Grades or Mid-Term Reports,
Putting “Important Documentation, Do not discard” stamped in red will not work any longer. I know it is an advertisement for hearing aids. You are wasting your stamp.
Dear Newspaper Reporters,
A man found dead by the river with a bullet hole in his head and a knife sticking out of his chest should be classified as a little more than “suspicious.” While we’re at it here, if a person in a truck runs over a pedestrian and then turns around and runs over him again, it is not “Probably” done on purpose.
Dear Kitty Cats Who Live At My House,
The beautiful mouse guts that you leave for me so artistically arranged, on my front mat are enough for me. You don’t need to put any more dead birds in my car. I did not notice it until I was out in traffic and that can be dangerous.
Dear Flying School Using The Air Above Whitmore To Teach People How To Fly,
Please quit practicing stalls over my house.
Dear Water Pick,
I hate you.
Dear governor of Texas,
I do not think your prayers for rain idea will work. However if you add some feathers and Native Americans you may just get a rainstorm or two. Then again, you can just wait until the rain cycle comes around again—which it will.
Dear People who put perfume on those folded over strips in magazines,
Stop it! It doesn’t make any difference what you call your scent it all smells the same in a magazine. You are wasting your time as well as your stinky perfume.
Dear Bug Walking On My Ceiling,
Perhaps you could go walk on the other side of the room. Even better go walk in the kitchen. There is stuff to eat in there.