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