An Open Letter to My Dogs

An Open Letter to My Dogs

Dear Snuggles and Clover:

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.

With nothing but love for you (but not your gas),

Heather

Our bad.

An Open Letter to John Hancock

Dear Mr. Hancock,

For years, I regarded you as a bit of an ass. I thought that if Open Letters 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.

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.

Something epic like this, I imagine

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.

Forever in debt,

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 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 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

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 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."

An Open Letter To Charlie Sheen

Dear Charlie,

Hey man, how’s it going? I’m guessing not well based on the fact you got your ass arrested and thrown in jail on Christmas for allegedly holding a knife to your wife’s throat and threatening to kill her. Ouch. I understand that your baby momma was legally drunk at 8:30 in the morning (CLASSY) and probably had it coming, but still… this is getting embarrassing.

Charlie, I think you just need to stop getting married and stop procreating. Do you really need to be populating the planet with your crazy genes?! You already had THREE kids by two previous women and you really felt the need to have twins with this crazy bitch, who by the way has my same name? Don’t think for a second I’m not pissed that Brooke Mueller is desecrating the name Brooke for all of us!

Why don’t you just concentrate on your acting career, which right now consists solely of “Two And A Half Men,” and help that kid who plays your nephew slim down the chunk because he is getting FAAAAT. Maybe help your dad, Martin, do some political stuff or help your brother, Emilio, find ANY sort of an acting role since I don’t think I’ve seen him on film since “The Mighty Ducks.” I know you can do it , Charlie! I have faith in you!

Stay Away From Those Crazy Bitches,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Martha Stewart

Dear God, Martha. Seriously. While this lobster baby would be tasty, I'm sure, with some melted garlic butter and horseradish, it's still a lobster stuffed with live baby at the end of the day. Jesus Christ.

<3, JuliaD
homemadehilarity.com

An Open Letter To Shawn & Heather

Dear Shawn & Heather,

Where the hell are you guys?! I'm seriously thinking of hiring a David Addison/Maddie Hayes type PI team to find your whereabouts. Shark Tank hasn't posted in over an month now and Heather Cherry is right behind him. Julia, do you know where our missing authors are at? Seriously, I can't write this blog by myself! I have two other blogs to write!

Hope everything is okay,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Scarlett Johansson

Dear ScarJo,

You can quit trying to be a singer anytime now. Seriously, you're not very good at it. On a sidenote, your husband is hot. Just thought I'd throw that in there.

Please Stick To Acting,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To That Crow That Keeps Saying, "Nevermore" Over and Over Again

Dear Crow,

Dude, cut it out. That's so raven.

Thanks,
Shawn

An Open Letter to the President of the Lou Bega Fan Club

Dear Mambo5,

I think you can go ahead and shut it down.

Just letting you know,
Shawn

An Open Letter To John Mayer

Dear John Mayer,

You are a COMPLETE DOUCHE!

Just wanted to let you know,
Shopgirl101

An Open Letter To My Parakeets

Dear Sonny & Cher,

Please stop staring at me and play with your damn toys already! I spent a butt-ton of money on various colorful, wooden, hangy-things for your pimped-out cage and do you two appreciate them? No! All you do is sit on your perch and preen each other. I'm over it. If you don't start ringing the bell soon, I'm going to have to separate you. Oh, and eat the veggies I put in your seed bowl...they're good for you.

Just trying to be a good mom,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Kate Gosling

Dear Kate,

Girl, looks like your man, John, has gone astray. I'm sooo shocked by this news, seeing as how having eight children must not be stressful to a marriage whatsoever. And the fact that they're all the same age must make it even easier on you two. I'm sure potty training a gaggle of toddlers was super fun! Oh, and the fact that you act like an uber-bitch 99% of the time must give ol' Johnny Boy an instant erection.

Don't get me wrong, I would probably have permanent PMS, too, if I was in your position. But why don't you try dialing down the whole "emasculating ball & chain thing" and see how that goes. Maybe take a day off from screaming orders at him every once in a while, 'cause I don't know too many men in the market for a single mom with eight kids, if you know what I mean.

Just trying to be helpful,
Brooke Amanda

An open letter to Heather

Dear Heather,

Thanks for getting back to me, and I really appreciate your honesty. In fact, I probably shouldn't be typing this, but your tart frankness kinda turns me on. Kinda riles me up. Kinda gets me hot and bothered. I could go on. So, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. I got a full-body latex suit and a riding crop already oiled up and waiting to go.

xoxoxo,
Rod Stewart