A place for open letters to the good people of the world.

Dear TSA Agent,
Yes you wear a badge. Yes you think you are Barney Badass because you are 6-2, 240, a shaved head and look like a lighter version of Michael Clarke Duncan.
It was a crucifix around my neck. Grow the f@ck up.

 

Dear Xan,

Maybe you're feeling like you're moving too fast (you were speeding), not taking time to enjoy life, but you feel it's ok, or at least normal, because everyone else in the biz is too (on your way to cover a game). But you know there's things that can come up along the way that could seriously change your course (head on car would do the trick). You know you can control things, even when it gets tough, but only to a certain point (driving backwards, getting faster and still maintaining control until someone hits you).

Don't read the threads about the biz being bad anymore.

K

 

Dear K

You apparently missed your calling.

Sincerely,

Platy

 

Dear KG,

Impressive analysis. Probably a lot of truth in it. What I remember most is the moments the car crashed into the wall and burned yet still feeling alive until that moment faded to black and I realized I was being pulled by gravitational forces of death toward that bluest sky I'd ever seen. That said, I drove carefully today.

Thanks again,
Xan

I'll give you a shout after the next funky dream; I hope it's not about me dying, though.

 

Dear Mama,

I miss your chocolate pie and myrtleberry jam on hot summer nights like this.

 

dear xan,

the dream was a wake-up call. masterbate only twice a day from now on.



hugs,


tomas

 

to whom it may concern,

thanks.

 

dear tomas,

i've killed so many kittens that i've moved on to unicorns ...

best,
xan

 

dear xan,

always, almost more so than prison: do not drop the soap while hunting unicorn.



hugs,


tomas

 

Dear evil librarian,

Just because I haven't shaved in a week and my shirt was wrinkled, that doesn't mean I don't know how to read, you contemptuous bitch.

Clever

 

Dear Brad Penny and Jonathan Broxton,

Thanks for making my night.

Cheers,
Cradle

 

Dear people who organized the hockey game I played in on Saturday,

Thanks. It was awesome to get back on the ice again, and I didn't suck near as much as I thought I might. I have the world's sorest triceps and biceps today, plus a pretty sore ego, but 60 minutes of stop-time hockey will do that to you when you haven't played in a year.

However, the game itself and remembering how much I miss playing has sent me deeper into my mild and smoldering depression based on how fucking much I hate the shithole town I live in. It's in the middle of BFE, thinks its the best small town in the world while it basically has nothing of recreational or entertainment value. The citizens of said town got so excited this year because Kinko's moved in. A fucking Kinko's. I mean... there are things to get excited about it. A copying mecca is not one of them. Plus they won't bring anything new into town because they're too cheap to fund the initial stages of construction and zoning changes, and don't realize the lack of industry is exactly why their taxes are so high. Fuckers.

I love this state. But this town can go back to the hell from whence it came. The sooner I get out of here, the better my mental health status will be. And I have you, oh hockey organizers, to thank for that.

Much love,

Kritter