An Open Letter To Edy's

Dear Edy's,

I recently had occasion to purchase your Pumpkin flavored ice cream. It seemed like a sure bet. Here are the factors that caused me to believe I was making a good choice:

#1. I like ice cream
#2. I like pumpkin pie
#3. I like seasonally available treats, such as egg nog and Cadbury Creme Eggs

But my delight turned to disdain when I arrived home, removed the lid, and took my first tentative bites. (I don't believe in bowls--they only take away from the purity of the ice cream eating experience.) The first problem was the color. I was expecting something light brown, like the pumpkin pie filling I've always loved. Instead, I was assaulted with a strange peach-like hue completely inappropriate for the flavor. The second problem was the consistency. I expected it to be more like, I don't know, ice cream. Instead, I swirled my spoon around a thick, dry paste not unlike mashed circus peanuts. That it was cold was really the only thing that met my expectations. The flavor was in the ballpark--just close enough to make me wish I was actually eating pumpkin pie instead of your product.

Be the Avis of your industry, Edy's. Try harder.

Thanks,
Shawn

CC: Dreyer's

An Open Letter To Mike Myers

Dear Mike Myers,

It’s getting to be that time of year again! Halloween is only a couple weeks away. Damn, you’re probably exhausted from decades of murdering helpless victims all over Haddonfield, IL. You must be well into your 60’s by now and I was just curious…are you going to retire soon? I saw in your last film what I thought to be signs of arthritis in your right hand. Something about the way you were holding the ax while decapitating your latest victim just didn’t look right. Since your twilight years are upon you, I would like to extend an invitation to be your retirement life coach!

I know you’re probably thinking, “What the hell am I going to do if I retire? What does an ex-psycho, ax murdering killer have to offer the world?” Don’t get down on yourself, Mikey! There are plenty of things you could do to pass the time. Have you ever thought about hitting the lecture circuit? I’m sure there are lots of aspiring serial killers out there who would love to learn the tricks of the trade! You could even partner up with Jason and Freddy and have a three-for-one deal. I know, I know…you’re horrible shy (hence the William Shatner mask), so public speaking may not be the best choice.

Some other great options would be knitting (but don’t even think about using the needles as a weapon!), basket weaving, square dancing, antiquing, painting…the list is really endless. I also STRONGLY urge you to write your memoirs. Since literacy isn’t really your thing, I would be more than happy to ghost write them for you. Just let me know a time and date when we can sit down together and brainstorm an outline. I KNOW your book would be a bestseller!

Good luck with everything this Halloween, as I really feel it will be your last one before you hang up your ax. Have fun and make it your best killing spree yet! I expect to see you on the news on November 1st, ha ha!

Best Wishes With The Murdering,
Brooke

An Open Letter To Courtney Cox

Dear Courtney Botox,

What the hell did you do to your face? When watching the season premiere of “Cougartown” last week, I actually gasped at how mask-like your face has become. Your forehead and eyes have gone totally Christopher Reeves on you and one would think the inability to move your face would really be a hindrance to an actress. Your lips are plumped to within an inch of their life and I feel tempted to stick a pin in them just to see if they’ll pop!

Here’s the thing, Courtney…WE ALL GET OLDER! It’s going to happen. Just go with it. No one expects you to look the way you did on “Family Ties” or “Friends.” However, we do expect you to look like a human being. Fine lines and wrinkles are OKAY because real people acquire them as they get older. Please, stop fucking with your looks and lay off all the fillers, plumpers, nips and tucks. You don’t need them. Just look like the beautiful, 40-something woman that you are. You are dangerously close to looking like The Joker, so if I were you, I’d take this warning very seriously.

Oh, and one last thing. Can you make your character on “Cougartown” a smidge less whiney/needy?

Thanks,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To My Pretentious Neighbor

Dear Pretentious Neighbor,

Well hello there, how are you? Every time I see you in the parking lot, which is often as our cars are parked next to each other, I smile and say “hi.” I feel it’s the neighborly thing to do. I don’t want to be your friend, I’m not going to invite you over for dinner and I’m sure as shit not going to knock on your door to borrow a cup of sugar. But a little civility between individuals who inhabit the same building is nice. Isn’t that what separates man from beast?

Apparently, you do not feel the same way. You’ve consistently ignored me for a year. Even if you’re on the phone, which you always are because I guess you’re just soooo important, a head nod would be nice. Ya know, act like you’re acknowledging my presence on this earth.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out why you are such a snob. We pay the same amount of rent for Christ’s sake! It’s not like you’re whooping it up in the penthouse and I’m some lowly basement dweller. In fact, I live above you, bitch! Is it because you drive an expensive sports car? Um, nope. Don’t get me wrong, your BEIGE Diamante is awesome and all, but my Neon could kick it’s ass. BEIGE is quite an interesting choice for a single guy. I saw you washing it by hand the other day for THREE HOURS and that made perfect sense seeing as how there’s a goddamn car wash right across the street from us. And… you didn’t wash any of the BEIGE off.

I’ve also noticed that you like to grill out. You do look like a stud with your mini grill and bag chair. Oh, and when you had people over the other night and all six of you stopped talking when I got out of my car and walked to the door, well, that didn’t make me feel awkward at all. You and your friends suck. They looked like Abercrombie-wearing, former frat boy, date-raping, micro-brew drinking pieces of shit. Just like you.

Oh, and one more thing. Since you’ve lived here for a year, could you please get your out-of-state license plates changed already! Oh, what? Too good to live in Illinois?! Fuck you.

I hope you get drunk and burn your eyebrows off with your mini grill,

Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Tostitos Scoops

Dear Tostitos Scoops,

I apologize for the tardiness of my letter, as I realize you’ve been on the market for the last few years. But as I’m sitting here tonight, enjoying my friend’s homemade salsa, I’m wondering how the hell anyone ever ate salsa (or any dips) before you came along?

I know that flat tortilla chips are still made, but I shudder to think what kind of child-molesting cretin would even bother with those flat bitches? Flatties don’t hold a candle to your voluptuous curves that envelope a dip like an old lover in a tender embrace. You not only hold my salsa with confidence, but you ensure that every last bit of it makes it to my mouth and not my shirt. Your shape reminds me of the cradle used to hold the blessed baby Jesus. And when food resembles a religious figure, you know it’s going to be delicious. God bless the person who created you! There’s a special place in heaven for this tortilla chip saint.

Keep On Scooping,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter to That Guy at the Grocery Store

Dear Guy,

That ice cream you keep mentioning to your wife? The one that incorporates chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry into one convenient container? Well, that ice cream was never the Emperor of France. That ice cream never fought in the Battle of Waterloo and it was never exiled to the island of St. Helena. It never did any of these things, so stop calling it Napoleon Ice Cream! That's...that's not what it's called.

Pleased to help,
Shawn

An Open Letter to Blockbuster

Dear Blockbuster,

I just came across the instruction book for Megaman 2 for the NES, a game I rented in the late fall of 1989. In case you were wondering, it's not the original instruction book; it appears to have been lovingly copied and stapled together by an employee of your store. Most of the text is clear, save for some cut-off sentences near the back and a red stain on page 8 that could be from a cherry popsicle. While I understand that you probably don't rent this game anymore, I thought maybe you might want the book back. Or perhaps the employee who copied it wants it for posterity's sake.

Let me know,
Shawn

An Open Letter to My Friend Janie

Dear Janie,

Look, I understand. We've all let ourselves go at some point in our lives. We stop watching every little thing we eat and it winds up catching up with us. Perfectly normal.

That said, I feel like I have to intervene. Sweetie, you're getting really fat. I started noticing it a few months ago, probably before anyone else did. Just a very slight hump where there used to be a flat belly. Not a big deal, but I was concerned. But then it just continued to grow, like a mutant watermelon. I've even noticed that you've started wearing looser clothes to compensate. Sad, really. But what's sadder is the way you've seemingly embraced your newfound obesity. You almost seem proud of it!

Normally, I wouldn't say anything. You're my friend whether you're as skinny as a runway model or as big as a house. But it's not healthy to blow up as quickly as you have. The others won't tell you the truth. They seem amused by it, running up to feel your belly like you're the second coming of Buddha. They're enablers, but I can't stand idly by.

The thing is, you know I'm right. I noticed that you've even packed a "hospital bag". Clearly you're aware of the impact your quick weight gain has had on your heart and have simply resigned yourself to your upcoming coronary. I urge you to reconsider, Janie. It's not too late to get on a diet plan and return to your former glory.

With concern,
Shawn

P.S. What does your husband Jeff have to say about this? And why did I see him buying cigars the other day? Are you both trying to ruin your health as quickly as possible??

An Open Letter to the Writers of Glee

Dear Glee Scribes,

Please never again refer to U2's "One" as classic rock. Classic rock is a term used for bands such as Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. Foreigner, even. Songs that came out before I was born, basically.

"One" uh, just came out...not that long...ago.

Uhhhgh...

In permanent denial,

Shawn

Open Letter to Zen Office Guy

Open Letter to Zen Office Guy


Dear Zen Office Guy,

While your office may provide you with a tranquil place to retreat to while at work, it is messing me all up. Consider someone other than yourself dude. Im sure that your (not one but TWO) trickling, gurgling, fountains relax you. Thats wonderful, really it is. The problem is that when you are not in your office (which is a great deal of the time) you leave your door open and the fountains on, which means when I walk by your office, I always feel like I have to pee. So, thanks for that.

Im sure that keeping your over head lights in you office off makes you feel at one with whatever,and that the soft lamp glow gives you the ambiance you desire. However, Im already tired when I come to work, and as the day progresses, I get more sleepy, so your office darkness is torture. AND that soft asian music? It doesnt help either. It makes me want some Chicken Sub Gum and hot tea BEFORE I nap.

Constantly peeing, wanting chinese food, and desiring a nap are not condusive to a productive work day. Its no wonder that you get NOTHING done, and that people are always complaining about your lack of progress.....you are TOO RELAXED.

Do no be surprised if after a hard day (my hard day, not yours), you find me in the middle of your office floor in the lotus position (or whatever the meditation position is called)....you kind of asked for it.

Sincerly,
the Classic Rock Blaring Office Girl.

(by Obladi Oblada)

An Open Letter to Jack Bauer

An Open Letter to Jack Bauer



Dear Agent Bauer:

What's up with that ridiculous loud whispering-repeating-everything thing? When you're sitting at the dinner table and you need the mashed potatoes from the other side of the table, do you do this?

[loud whisper] "Please pass the mashed potatoes. I repeat... please pass the mashed potatoes!

[then crazy gravelly yell] "Son-of-a-bitch! I spilled the gravy. Chloe, I need you on com! Send a chopper to my location with more gravy. I'm sending my GPS coordinates to your screen."


Also when are you going to figure out... there's always a mole working for the bad guy! I mean come on! How many seasons of the same plot devices and you haven't nailed this down yet?


Seriously, though, with nothing but love for ya,

Me




Related...


Dear Fox Network:


There are only so many terrorist and kidnapping plots that one man can foil whilst going "dark" but then eventually being commended by the President before it gets kiiiiiinda boring. I officially cancelled "24" from my DVR. No hard feelings, k? It's been a good run, really it has.


Sincerely,

Me


P.S. I understand censorship and the need to keep things clean for primetime television and everything, but seriously... Jack Bauer is routinely tortured, almost dies, and basically loses or alienates everyone in his life while in the course of saving the country/world from impending doom. Do you honestly expect me to believe that the strongest language he uses is "Dammit!" or "Son-of-a-bitch!"? If I was an undercover drug runner hooked on heroin torturing the love of my life shortly after finding out the other love of my life was a Moley McMolerson and I had a nuclear warhead following me around like that little thundercloud follows Daffy Duck, I'd probably at least utter some of these: #@*****$@#!!! or oidthadfgxxxxxxxxxx!!!!!1 or even asdfsemicolon!!!!! I'm just sayin'...

An Open Letter to my Canadian Quarter

Dear Quarter,

Take note! While you are undeniably majestic, with your engraving of Queen Elizabeth on the front and a beautiful rendering of...some sort of...Canadian Deerbeast on the back, you have crossed me and we shall now have words of a decidedly unpleasant nature. While I have nothing against you on an economic or monetary level, I cannot let this incident pass without comment. All I wanted was a delicious can of Coca-Cola Classic from that vending machine. As the few bills in my wallet were wrinkled and useless, I could only fall back on the handful of change in my pocket. Ah, three quarters. Just enough!

But NO! Because one of the quarters was you, you....you...French bastard! My hopes for a quenched throat were dashed, my spirits (and sugar levels) left to sink into oblivion. This won't soon be forgotten, Canadian Quarter. Mark my words.

Regards,

Shawn

An Open Letter To My Girlfriend

Dear Snufflebunny,

As you know, whenever I see a dog, and that dog is within petting distance, I cannot help myself. I don't care if it's a rat-looking chihuahua or a friendly beagle or a snarling rottweiler. I simply must head over there and give it a pat on the head and perhaps a scratch behind the ear. Maybe it's a sign of personal weakness--I don't know. But I simply must do it.

Well, it turns out you can contract herpes from petting strange dogs. Who knew??

Anyway, that's where it came from so I guess we can just go ahead and not talk about it anymore.

Thanks for your understanding,
Shawn

An Open Letter To Taylor Swift

Dear Taylor Swift,

Let’s have a chat. You are one of the few young singers today who doesn’t make my ears explode when I hear one of your songs. You are a genuinely talented singer/songwriter/musician and on top of that, you seem like a really sweet girl. So why, why, why are you starting to hang around one of the biggest pieces of shit walking the earth right now?!

I just saw a picture of you and colossal dick worm, John Mayer, cozying up to one another the other night in Nashville. NOOOOOO! Taylor, do you not read any of his press?! He is a self-absorbed, narcissistic prick. He is TROUBLE with a capital Douche! He will take your good girl virginal ass and tear you up! By all accounts, he likes to come in through the back door and leave you with a golden shower…if you know what I mean.

SPRINT away from this dick worm as fast as you can and do not look back. Your mother should be throwing a chastity belt on your ass ASAP and taking you into the witness protection program for a while until he finds his next victim. I will be holding a candle light vigil in your honor tonight in the hopes you come out of all this still pure and unscathed.

Keep those legs crossed,

Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Kate Gosselin's Weave

Dear Kate Gosselin’s Weave,

Run! Run for your dear life! I know you must be thinking you hit the jackpot by landing on a reality TV star’s head, but you have just reached the threshold to hell.

This bitch is broke and she has 20 kids ready to pull at you and get bubble gum stuck in you. She is going to be too busy caring for her child army to give you the time and attention you need to look your best. You deserve top of the line hair care products and I just know she’ll try to use some Suave shit on you. And her taste in men is not the best. You’ll have to deal with douchebags running their fingers through you and sweating on you during “adult time.”

Do yourself a favor and pick up a pair of scissors and end this nonsense right now before it’s too late.

I will be praying for you,

Brooke Amanda

Read my other letter to Kate at "Babbling Brooke."