tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45785095890545369982024-03-13T20:52:17.648-05:00The Open Letters BlogWe write open letters so you don't have to.Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-47142035578405605792011-12-04T08:10:00.004-06:002011-12-04T08:14:24.575-06:00An Open Letter To That Rotten Egg I Just Threw OutDear Rotten Egg,<br /><br />I feel bad about what I've done. What if you used to be a kid who just happened to be the last one to do something? What a terrible fate.<br /><br />Apologetically,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-9633234181702221852011-11-15T15:52:00.004-06:002011-11-15T15:56:39.368-06:00An Open Letter To Everyone Who Has Ever Showed Me a Video OnlineDear Video-Sharers,<br /><br />Could you, uh, move that cursor? No, I mean, it's just that...well it's right in the way, if you could just...yeah, yeah, just move it right out of the way there. Thanks.<br /><br />With appreciation,<br />Shawn<br /><br />P.S. Just go ahead and let that buffer before you call me over.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-15135963061644600272011-04-14T08:12:00.002-05:002011-04-14T08:19:31.251-05:00An Open Letter to Answers.comDear Answers.com (or is it "WikiAnswers"? I don't really know),<br /><br />Just the other day, I was finishing up my presentation to the National Board of Endangered Species Protection, and I needed to know how many camels were left in the world. The usual sources of information were of no help, so in desperation I turned to you:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlUUbdv8sIbYFpJhHlo5J3FABPNOBvF96owLABuZPdqk6ftKIJ_GwyXn1Ruh1IIDSoymkJHpnqiv5-teU7kItdjsUCDMzK7fwdU9hCHMCJqYa_AewvC7fgPv-KShh_CKkaLJvW-WnGpE/s1600/camelanswer1.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 71px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlUUbdv8sIbYFpJhHlo5J3FABPNOBvF96owLABuZPdqk6ftKIJ_GwyXn1Ruh1IIDSoymkJHpnqiv5-teU7kItdjsUCDMzK7fwdU9hCHMCJqYa_AewvC7fgPv-KShh_CKkaLJvW-WnGpE/s400/camelanswer1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595427752476208834" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And, as I expected, your reputation remained untarnished as you supplied me with the correct answer in record time:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghq5EKDBsIBB_-zhA-XUSk3ANYb_8zZhsSN9G4JRXBFHYRiFWZSooxpQjUmlUtrVJa_g5mZDxi8LmW-S9elhbRzcb8nI-4hIFEvHycgigJxIPMUUeQ3MJWSfto94itwC8p43MQqZexjBY/s1600/camelanswer2.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 141px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghq5EKDBsIBB_-zhA-XUSk3ANYb_8zZhsSN9G4JRXBFHYRiFWZSooxpQjUmlUtrVJa_g5mZDxi8LmW-S9elhbRzcb8nI-4hIFEvHycgigJxIPMUUeQ3MJWSfto94itwC8p43MQqZexjBY/s400/camelanswer2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595428071385059458" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thanks, Answers.com! I'll let you know how the presentation goes!<br /><br />With gratitude,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-88569591122756434682011-04-11T11:48:00.003-05:002011-04-11T11:55:43.355-05:00An Open Letter to Parking Lot Drivers<span style="font-style: italic;">Written from the center of the crosswalk, heading from the Best Buy parking lot to the store:</span><br /><br />Dear drivers,<br /><br />What's the rush? Hey, you see that sign there? The one with the pretty red paint and the white letters and the octagonal shape? Yeah, that's a stop sign. It means, "Take your stupid foot off your stupid gas pedal and put it on your stupid brake pedal." You ignorant hunchback. The more impatient you look, the slower I will walk. I might even decide I need to start crawling, or pull out a pen and paper and compose a letter while you sit there in your fancy pants automobile, listening to some sort of god awful music that sounds like the screams of a thousand innocent souls. Best Buy isn't going anywhere. Not today, anyway. Just chill, dude-mar. Just chill.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-35360043141848072632011-04-11T11:42:00.005-05:002011-04-11T11:55:25.559-05:00An Open Letter To Parking Lot Pedestrians<span style="font-style: italic;">Written from my car while stopped, waiting for pedestrians to go from the parking lot into Best Buy and vice versa:<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span></span></span><span><span><span>Dear Pedestrians,</span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span></span></span><span><span><span>I mean, I know it would be physically <span style="font-style: italic;">possible</span> for you to walk a little slower, but can't we test out the limits of your turtle-like progression at another time?? I just want to get to my parking space and get inside, you know? Oh, that's wonderful, more people are coming out of the store now and I'll have to wait for them as well! My car is starting to overheat! WHY ARE YOU SHUFFLING YOUR FEET?? Are you afraid you might step on a stingray? Pick up the pace, you ASSOSAURUS!<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />Shawn</span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-35495870519641087412011-04-06T20:13:00.001-05:002011-04-06T20:14:23.128-05:00An Open Letter To 5-Hour EnergyDear 5-Hour Energy Drink,<br /><br />I never tried you before today. I was fearful of what you may do to my body and stuck closely by my trusty Cup O’Joe to give me the boost I needed to make it through my work day. But I had a horrible sleep last night and my coffee mug and energy levels were on low, so I decided to give you a shot. After all, my co-worker takes you all the time, so I thought, “What’s the worst that could happen? Cardiac arrest? Seizures?”<br /><br />So throwing caution to the wind I guzzled down just half a bottle to play it on the safe side. And, boy oh boy, you didn’t disappoint, Energy! At first I felt no difference, but within minutes I could feel my heart racing and my head spinning. Dare I say I even felt a bit drunk. Is that your secret ingredient, Energy? Alcohol?<br /><br />With my new found buzz, I was able to speed through the last remaining hours of my workday with all the hopped up jittery-ness of a crackhead who just got a big fix after weeks of withdrawal. Thanks, Energy! I am choosing to ignore the moments in my day when I felt like I was going to faint and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking… and the point were I crashed so hard I felt like a coma victim and wasn’t sure if I could drive home. The point is, you did perk me up and that’s all that matters! <br /><br />P.S.- I’m switching back to coffee IMMEDIANTLY.<br /><br />Hyperly yours,<br />Brooke AmandaBrooke Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14858034767146333805noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-63194346794232460342011-04-04T11:47:00.003-05:002011-04-04T11:57:14.334-05:00An Open Letter to Angry BirdsDear Angry Birds,<br /><br />You have to be the dumbest game ever put on this planet, and I include Monopoly in that number. God, you're so retarded, and anyone who plays you is equally retarded! I, for one, do not intend to ever play you again. And I mean that.<br /><br />One more level, and I'm done.<br /><br />All right, well, that one was easy, but after this next level, I am deleting you and you will be out of my life forever.<br /><br />God, has anything on this earth ever been invented that is as <span style="font-style: italic;">useless</span> as that green boomerang bird?? Oh, right. Egg shaped bird.<br /><br />Ok, I'm done. Seriously. I'm not going to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to knock down that structure and kill those bitchly-ass pigs. It doesn't even make sense. The physics are terrible. Goodbye. Turning it off.<br /><br />In just a sec...<br /><br />Angrily,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-64682641718626653392011-03-31T12:21:00.003-05:002011-03-31T12:26:30.305-05:00An Open Letter to My Dogs<div align="justify"><strong>An Open Letter to My Dogs</strong></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Dear Snuggles and Clover:</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Good gravy, what in the world did you two eat? Are you even aware that your farts can penetrate Kevlar? The next time I need to sandblast something I'll just bottle some of your abominable flatulence. You have a permanent fog hovering around you like Pigpen from Peanuts. I no longer have any nose hair. Your farts can peel varnish and dissolve acid. True story, I once saw a pit bull fart make Chuck Norris cry. The smell is so bad my eyes are watering and my nose is running. And by "my nose is running" I mean, like, my nose literally jumped off my face and ran away in fear and revulsion. It went into the Witness Protection Program and now I'll never find it. The fallout is truly heinous. The blast radius is the width of a city block. I now have a new theory for what killed off the dinosaurs.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">With nothing but love for you (but not your gas),</div><br /><div align="justify">Heather</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUKFQ4Ir2JWGuexcQl2qFZYvGCQDZlrumAgTkc-Fc2iR2Gwo3vWEcbcAl9Pv7giQhVf-FhDPJ-dQwsrM0762vogacHKI7y1T0NFnCdShwMtPuYiEdTPISRP9CrGLXASfJPKGZlOhFfV0s/s1600/snuggle+buddies.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590292926450692258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUKFQ4Ir2JWGuexcQl2qFZYvGCQDZlrumAgTkc-Fc2iR2Gwo3vWEcbcAl9Pv7giQhVf-FhDPJ-dQwsrM0762vogacHKI7y1T0NFnCdShwMtPuYiEdTPISRP9CrGLXASfJPKGZlOhFfV0s/s400/snuggle+buddies.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"></a><em>Our bad.</em></p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-36927042134264168192011-03-22T08:16:00.002-05:002011-03-22T08:19:36.664-05:00An Open Letter To My Upstairs NeighborsDear Neighbors,<br /><br />What's it like owning an elephant? I had no idea they did so much <span style="font-style: italic;">jumping</span>!<br /><br />Curious,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-73148909732306768482011-03-18T12:10:00.001-05:002011-03-18T12:13:19.697-05:00An Open Letter To Anyone With a Bumper StickerDear Sticker-Mongers,<br /><br />We don't care. No really, no one does.<br /><br />Nobody cares that your kid made the honor roll and <span style="font-style: italic;">absolutely</span> no one cares that your kid beat up another honor roll student.<br /><br />Nobody cares who you voted for in the last election and no one was going to blame you, anyway.<br /><br />Nobody cares about your fish, or about your fish with legs.<br /><br />Nobody gives a flying shitwaffle if you have a baby on board, or what the make-up of your family looks like, as created by stick figures.<br /><br />Nobody cares if Jesus is your co-pilot, if you're "salt life", who you support in the NASCAR event, if you never learned anything else about Islam after 9/11, if your other car is a broomstick, if you'd rather be fishing, or WHAT YOU THINK CALVIN SHOULD BE PISSING ON!<br /><br />It looks dumb, and you should feel dumb.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-48142366937652666152011-03-15T11:35:00.006-05:002011-03-15T11:40:10.962-05:00Attention! Attention!<div align="center"><br />OMG are you <em>so</em> excited to hear this?<br /><br /></div><br /><div align="center">In the past we have posted a handful of guest blogger letters, but here's the breaking news: we have officially decided to take submissions of your own Open Letters to post on this here blog! Can you even believe it? Click the badge on the sidebar if you've got something to say. An esteemed Board of Directors will make a decision on the letters that will make the final cut, and who knows? Maybe you'll see your name in lights one day! And by "name in lights" I mean "name on this blog".</div><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 323px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584346703943724226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3WVUzVM6h3wDOrIuJIoFAfWBBYKUBBli1BMBt9Wkriq4CiNP1QdawUryvCQq1srFjdj3lqTbRp9l_kChc9fIFxrAfjbMczx4LebboXeK0AFZbEIp8XKNSKqDPoaYZSaDSQLU1K_hwIrk/s400/rawr.jpg" /><br /><p align="center">Do it! Do it now!<br /></p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-34714802174827617022011-03-15T08:00:00.002-05:002011-03-15T09:31:24.796-05:00An Open Letter to Shawn<strong>An Open Letter to Shawn<br /></strong><br /><br />Dear Shawn:<br /><br /><br />I added some labels to your last post.<br /><br /><br />You're welcome,<br /><br />HeatherHeather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-61492693236317437582011-03-14T06:29:00.001-05:002011-03-15T09:28:06.393-05:00An Open Letter To Dragon Naturally Speaking ("written" with Dragon Naturally Speaking)Dear Dragon,<br /><br />It's been a pleasure and a delight to use your speech recognition software, freeing my hands to publish more important tacks such as: digging through the bag of Cheetos for those final crimes, messing about with my electronic cigarette, and handwriting ideas for future blog posts. It will only be a matter of time before I can dispense with my keyboard and mouse altogether, thus earning me the final merit badge in my quest to become the laziest man alive.<br /><br />Many would shy away from writing a letter such as this for fear that it might be seen as an improper product indoors mint. Not I however, when a piece of software is capable as you are Dragon pirouette peer. I have no qualms about shouting it from the nearest rooftop. And make no mistake about it, I really am shouting. I have to, because this microphone is a piece of ship. new paragraph new parent graph new scratch hat god be jesus what the hell<br /><br />So, you make a few mistakes and typos here and there. So what? If I can fully convince our readers to expect this level of grammatical correctness, I will soon be able to outsource my post to a Third World country for pennies on the dollar and retire to the coast of Mexico for a lifetime of good tequila and long siestas.<br /><br />Which is across the us,<br />SHA WNShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-28653361750804104062011-03-10T13:00:00.002-06:002011-03-10T13:50:31.469-06:00An Open Letter to the State of Arizona<div align="justify"><br /><strong>An Open Letter to the State of Arizona</strong><br /><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XHlwU8qXmLwUCsFz6ZLeKq41RQ5XdPY_CDrScth3zNBVvDLRrOanhr5HN4f0b02sYgYEwxC6ic81cBdsYLzZ3k1FM7XvvgH3H51kQ_tri1JvIRO9IfX6VaR4tHuAMRMrPVvdQTDDsmcb/s1600/daylight+savings.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 398px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582535463681540194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XHlwU8qXmLwUCsFz6ZLeKq41RQ5XdPY_CDrScth3zNBVvDLRrOanhr5HN4f0b02sYgYEwxC6ic81cBdsYLzZ3k1FM7XvvgH3H51kQ_tri1JvIRO9IfX6VaR4tHuAMRMrPVvdQTDDsmcb/s400/daylight+savings.jpg" /><br /><p align="justify"></a><br />Dear Arizona:<br /><br /><br />What the crap? Why are you exempt from Daylight Saving Time? That is so unfair, State of Arizona. I, for one, am not a happy camper. This business of springing forward, falling back, hopping sideways, and skipping in circles is getting a little frigging old. And I will be <a href="http://theopenlettersblog.blogspot.com/2011/02/open-letter-to-my-alarm-clock-dear.html"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">hating my alarm clock</span></strong></a> with that little bit of extra fervor come Sunday. But you, Arizona? You’ll be happy as a clam, secure in the knowledge that 8 AM is still 8 AM and all is right with the world. Except for the part of the world that is springing forward! Lame!<br /><br /><br />Totally jealous of you,<br /><br /><br />Heather<br />Oklahoma, USA<br /><br /><br />cc: Hawaii </p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-35906907507650478822011-03-06T21:03:00.000-06:002011-03-07T09:13:26.339-06:00An Open Letter To MarchDear March,<br /><br />So this is how you’re going to play it, huh? Beautiful, sunny and 65 degrees one day, then frigid, snowing and 30 degrees the very next day. What the hell?! You’re such a little cocktease. Do I need to bust out my capris and sandals or stick to winter coats and boots? <br /><br />I know you’re supposed to come in like a lion and out like a lamb, but starting off like a lamb and then flipping the script is NOT COOL. Not cool at all. Don’t make me start to hate you more than I already hate February because, trust me, you don’t want that kind of wrath coming down on you full-force. <br /><br />All this back-and-forth with Mother Nature has got me in a very pissy mood. If you two could possibly reach a decision within the next couple of days to, ya know, maybe make the next few weeks sunny with moderate temps that would be just fabulous. I know everyone in Illinois would thank you from the bottom of our warmth-deprived hearts.<br /><br />Waiting patiently for some nice weather,<br />Brooke AmandaBrooke Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14858034767146333805noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-53989215006052430762011-03-03T09:08:00.001-06:002011-03-04T10:36:03.385-06:00An Open Letter to John HancockDear Mr. Hancock,<br /><br />For years, I regarded you as a bit of an ass. I thought that if <span style="font-style: italic;">Open Letters</span> had existed in your day, surely our contributor Brooke would have taken you to task for what she would only have been able to term, "incorrigible douchery". After all, who signs their name that way? It smacked of the class clown in high school who had to find some insignificant way to draw attention to themselves.<br /><br />It appears, however, I have an apology to make. I recently read Thomas Rogers' account of your stay in the Massachusetts House of Representatives, where he praises you for "blazing a whig of the first magnitude" in defiance of the British. Why have we never heard of this? We hear all about the Boston Tea Party and various boycotts, but never about this stunning display of bravery.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsm2KvBNNs1tMRLSqzGBrwoRUieXDJZTz62jTM4N1p6Dd1-w8f5QI8b0rMHipzJhHnI5eQdP48WnEgP-bHChdZPcqZq5Shv4c6vmgNTN8m-hlrEkVB6URucj8xxxEpODTbTjkVIxFSzA/s1600/hancock.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsm2KvBNNs1tMRLSqzGBrwoRUieXDJZTz62jTM4N1p6Dd1-w8f5QI8b0rMHipzJhHnI5eQdP48WnEgP-bHChdZPcqZq5Shv4c6vmgNTN8m-hlrEkVB6URucj8xxxEpODTbTjkVIxFSzA/s400/hancock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579501889773905698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Something epic like this, I imagine</span></span><br /></div><br />In any case, my truest apologies to you. I have now decided to make you one of my all time heroes, alongside such great patriots as Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and Rocky Balboa. Shine on, you crazy whig-burning diamond.<br /><br />Forever in debt,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-v7VXM2n0ec50Dp9qBriKSZ3L1g_GW71p2oomofeA3aa9dz7sMDa97KRt6jVzFDfWUmy6avjfc_qvm3eNHQLDaUFfWnDoWw9svrpkq9yRVOQ0fvA8SiuvcDIwOlayqw4D0nwI5aT2LE/s1600/signature.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 394px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-v7VXM2n0ec50Dp9qBriKSZ3L1g_GW71p2oomofeA3aa9dz7sMDa97KRt6jVzFDfWUmy6avjfc_qvm3eNHQLDaUFfWnDoWw9svrpkq9yRVOQ0fvA8SiuvcDIwOlayqw4D0nwI5aT2LE/s400/signature.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579502730394056882" border="0" /></a>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-9805144274528514042011-03-02T08:00:00.002-06:002011-03-02T08:55:33.624-06:00An Open Letter to My Credit Card<div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><div><br /><strong>An Open Letter to My Credit Card<br /></strong><br /><br />Dear Credit Card:<br /><br /></div><br /><div align="justify">I know this might seem like it's completely out of the blue, but... well... how do I say this? To put it as gently as possible, <em>I'm breaking up with you, you jackhole</em>. I know, I know... I'm sorry. We've had some great times. We really have. Remember that shopping spree at Anthropologie? Remember when I got LASIK? Remember when Snuggles had to have unexpected surgery? Yeah... I'm still paying for those things. Not cool, you know? Your manipulative ways have held me captive in your unrelenting grasp for too long. I've come to realize I'm just another number in your little black book. Account No. XXXX XXXX XXXX 0231, actually.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so, Credit Card, I'm cutting you off. I'm cutting you out of my life completely. And, well, I'm actually going to literally cut you up as well. And believe me when I say it will hurt me more than it will hurt you. Because I will actually have to start <em>paying</em> for things. And it's going to sting for a while. But in the end, it will turn out for the best. For both of us. Well... maybe not for you. But definitely for me. And hey, chin up; someday we'll look back on this and laugh. </div><div><br /></div><div align="justify">It's not you. It's me. Well... actually, it <em>is </em>you. It's 100% you, and you suck.</div><div><br /><br />Not so fondly,<br /><br />Heather<br />(your soon to be debt-free ex) </div><br /><div></div><div></div><br /><div>P.S. I've been seeing someone else. His name is Ca$h Money. </div><div><br /><br /><br /> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579297625652535154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg152Xr8kQhWtniUqyoINwFd4I79LC9bCmyKoYwWieEb4OtXLDGWIWFGSsVGY7u8iE2-A3rSuGhGwuHlj6Nkqm0iv24xTEDW-f6wkxiXjDQn45efj0BkYvPnWacdL1hX2XpcgEg5puzYrR/s400/006.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579297934271079842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjob0Wm-moZCEm-1wu00QHE0IrOOXsVu9Aq2QFWRL_TIZS8COvy40a8fXrtaZzEO7S9dW2t9zts3Qb9txdqRonP-51Kr_TJkiIuW8tQo_haLnMj1FA9S4TfFh-jAR468FCiyh3Et77M16Kx/s400/008.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579298122190886818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-1s6Ms_EJWuhS1Jx9viNzFONLBxM3lDTRnDRpFEbKoEN5PuiQI775NGmeQ1mH0GgVTaXeTGCcRcqz3N8wjR-dmX87BHrEfzuCFqgFDxi652ISD0scApNOrzI6Sq7q9dLyaxXCUfKs7Mg/s400/013.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579298449861856674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXCY9tHLqe58E33gbZpex6RKnMiQSXuFWVXnp1PIWBd1hGpu8FC2sV-k2NWd67e_4zxltC6vQQWPeYVix0TN473fh190Af02CpCZGAsm5jABFfZCuffA0_5pH_p5ws6BbgPDcFrBcDiwl/s400/018.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579298578876961554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0uHE5mKOodp7R7zw2O9oKiQKJgkFNpsu8eKYwV_gaJ_2aqwBOTLAbZ4IVA8ceEt5r2kMbGLj2rGRjpcOaraXw_zrtx672pF6aTEye4zVSBuFFhM7HZIA5p79CCHPagKoEOWSy0nvvKKQ/s400/017.JPG" /> </div><br /><div><br /><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579302580557958866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG872Uhj1H8YxTSuNRJhaTRePY1idJZYkeA21sE9n7q5i65cjmaihqhKf9eINCEEWtMIQpCclN4t9TacUDrVXIU4mK2RyMCFcpUbObMmNXsuFc5lkDv-n0THm81ABIcSzdJ7hFmRtaKFh/s400/016.JPG" /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-19347905238944145022011-03-01T08:25:00.002-06:002011-03-04T10:59:25.823-06:00An Open Letter To My Friend, Whose Novel I've Been EditingDear Ron,<br /><br />"Cocksure" is a fine word, and it has its place in the language. Not in the way you've been using it, though. Not in that way at all.<br /><br />Thanks,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-66399036440858991212011-02-24T15:38:00.002-06:002011-03-04T10:39:18.574-06:00An Open Letter To The Shirt I Just Bought That Says "Not Machine Washable, Dry Clean Only"Dear Shirt,<br /><br />You're never going to get cleaned. I just thought you should know that.<br /><br />Thanks,<br />ShawnShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-27853748057011783372011-02-23T13:12:00.001-06:002011-03-04T10:50:39.461-06:00An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock<strong>An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock</strong><br /><br /><br />Dear Alarm Clock:<br /><br /><br />I hate you.<br /><br />That is all.<br /><br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />MeHeather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-42331417255270156012011-01-20T17:13:00.005-06:002011-03-04T10:43:10.425-06:00An Open Letter to the Remote ControlAn Open Letter to the Remote Control<br /><br /><br />Dear Remote Control:<br /><br /><br />Where are you? I'm tired of your little games. I know you're not in the couch cushions; I already checked there.<br /><br />Show yourself.<br /><br /><br />Regards,<br /><br />HeatherHeather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-6552807183619821312010-12-03T12:34:00.003-06:002011-03-04T10:17:08.067-06:00An Open Letter To Edy'sDear Edy's,<br /><br />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:<br /><br />#1. I like ice cream<br />#2. I like pumpkin pie<br />#3. I like seasonally available treats, such as egg nog and Cadbury Creme Eggs<br /><br />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,<span style="font-style: italic;"> ice cream</span>. 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.<br /><br />Be the Avis of your industry, Edy's. Try harder.<br /><br />Thanks,<br />Shawn<br /><br />CC: Dreyer'sShawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10090766285358259081noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-75790880263202135302010-10-15T22:30:00.002-05:002011-03-04T10:59:37.159-06:00An Open Letter To Mike Myers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHIUhDBOJaADDj3MVeNRHZwL-AGsUGqTYYPZP3vTx4Rl2zocEBfAtPP1YonjUiVYVmgWSw1XzIaBO2o9P7b8971opZurysIzZBlLFvgIKqsK7-oMcofVOSFto4JSj_2dAtNDfnll7JWnDT/s1600/myers.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHIUhDBOJaADDj3MVeNRHZwL-AGsUGqTYYPZP3vTx4Rl2zocEBfAtPP1YonjUiVYVmgWSw1XzIaBO2o9P7b8971opZurysIzZBlLFvgIKqsK7-oMcofVOSFto4JSj_2dAtNDfnll7JWnDT/s320/myers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528481528415086466" /></a><br /><br />Dear Mike Myers,<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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!<br /><br />Best Wishes With The Murdering,<br />BrookeBrooke Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14858034767146333805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-40066440793082206352010-09-28T21:26:00.002-05:002011-03-04T11:09:43.359-06:00An Open Letter To Courtney CoxDear Courtney Botox,<br /><br /> 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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Oh, and one last thing. Can you make your character on “Cougartown” a smidge less whiney/needy?<br /><br />Thanks,<br />Brooke AmandaBrooke Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14858034767146333805noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578509589054536998.post-39777906046404133392010-09-14T20:45:00.002-05:002011-03-04T11:02:54.312-06:00An Open Letter To My Pretentious NeighborDear Pretentious Neighbor,<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />I hope you get drunk and burn your eyebrows off with your mini grill,<br /><br />Brooke AmandaBrooke Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14858034767146333805noreply@blogger.com3