Dear Monday, I know it is not your fault that you come right after the weekend, but I will be honest with you. I do not like you. Do not try to suck up to me by offering me a million evening television shows that you claim will wash away my monday blues. It does not work that way. Give it a rest and spare yourself the heartbreak. We can never be.
Dear Mr Grocery Store Clerk, I know you have orders from above to make me feel like a member of the Genuardi's family, but when you stand petrified at the cash register, gaping dumbly at my credit card receipt trying to pronounce my name, rest assured you are not eliciting any familial bonding from me. You are just stealing from me the time I could be spending with my REAL family. If the urge to address me by my last name is too irresistible for you to overcome, please feel free to choose any English word you are comfortable with and pretend that is my new name. For example, "Thank you Mr Apple and have a good day." I promise I will treat you to a display of third world gratitude you have never seen before.
Dear US Postal Service, starting tomorrow, please deliver all my mail, including grocery store coupons, credit card applications, JC Penney catalogs and Victoria's secret catalogs (yes, Victoria's secret catalogs too, that should let you know how sick and tired I am of all the dead trees you send my way) , directly to the paper recycling bin at the dumpster. In return, I promise not to yell obscenities at every post box that I pass everyday on my way to work and the person using it .
Dear Coors Light Beer, I have a question for you: What the fuck do you mean when you say your beer is the coldest tasting beer in the world? Are you saying if I drink two equally warm beers, yours will still taste colder? That just doesn't make any fucking sense. Please pull your head out of your ass, Coors Light Beer, and get a new marketing slogan or I might just pull all my hair out in a fit of insanity.
Dear Budweiser Beer, is it really necessary to lay claim to every adjective in the English language while describing your beer? You know, the more you hide behind your adjectives, the less I trust you. So, for fuck's sake, just quit the "Fresh", "Smooth", Pure", "True" and what not.
Dear Neighbourhood Indian Uncle, is it really necessary to give me a scathing glare of disapproval everytime you see me unloading a crate of beer from my car on friday evening? Granted, you might have been brought up in a strictly teetotalist household by parents who believed coconut milk is the devil's drink, but I wasn't. And if you are under the impression that alcoholism is my worst sin, then it is probably best for us that our acquaintance is but passing.
Dear Fat Lady Who Sits Cross Legged On Her Patio In Short Shorts Reading A Book, please dont.