An Open Letter To That Rotten Egg I Just Threw Out

Dear Rotten Egg,

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.

Apologetically,
Shawn

An Open Letter To Everyone Who Has Ever Showed Me a Video Online

Dear Video-Sharers,

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.

With appreciation,
Shawn

P.S. Just go ahead and let that buffer before you call me over.

An Open Letter to Answers.com

Dear Answers.com (or is it "WikiAnswers"? I don't really know),

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:




And, as I expected, your reputation remained untarnished as you supplied me with the correct answer in record time:




Thanks, Answers.com! I'll let you know how the presentation goes!

With gratitude,
Shawn

An Open Letter to Parking Lot Drivers

Written from the center of the crosswalk, heading from the Best Buy parking lot to the store:

Dear drivers,

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.

Sincerely,
Shawn

An Open Letter To Parking Lot Pedestrians

Written from my car while stopped, waiting for pedestrians to go from the parking lot into Best Buy and vice versa:

Dear Pedestrians,

I mean, I know it would be physically possible 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!

Sincerely,
Shawn

An Open Letter to Angry Birds

Dear Angry Birds,

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.

One more level, and I'm done.

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.

God, has anything on this earth ever been invented that is as useless as that green boomerang bird?? Oh, right. Egg shaped bird.

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.

In just a sec...

Angrily,
Shawn

An Open Letter To My Upstairs Neighbors

Dear Neighbors,

What's it like owning an elephant? I had no idea they did so much jumping!

Curious,
Shawn

An Open Letter To Anyone With a Bumper Sticker

Dear Sticker-Mongers,

We don't care. No really, no one does.

Nobody cares that your kid made the honor roll and absolutely no one cares that your kid beat up another honor roll student.

Nobody cares who you voted for in the last election and no one was going to blame you, anyway.

Nobody cares about your fish, or about your fish with legs.

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.

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!

It looks dumb, and you should feel dumb.

Sincerely,
Shawn

An Open Letter To Dragon Naturally Speaking ("written" with Dragon Naturally Speaking)

Dear Dragon,

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.

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

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.

Which is across the us,
SHA WN

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 My Friend, Whose Novel I've Been Editing

Dear Ron,

"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.

Thanks,
Shawn

An Open Letter To The Shirt I Just Bought That Says "Not Machine Washable, Dry Clean Only"

Dear Shirt,

You're never going to get cleaned. I just thought you should know that.

Thanks,
Shawn

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 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

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 Public Bathroom Toilet Paper

Dear TP,

I've been unfortunate enough to need your assistance a time or two in my day, and you never fail to disappoint. Perhaps if I was looking to take my quarter panel down to the primer you would be up for the job. Or if I needed to write something down but didn't have any notebook paper handy, I bet you would be perfect in a pinch. But when it comes to doing the job for which you're most often employed, you are woefully out of your depth. Like a lazy janitor two days from retirement, you do the basic cleaning, but you leave out that extra...something...that would be so appreciated. You know...like softness. Absorbency. Ease of use. It's the little things that make all the difference. Don't settle for "just getting by", TP. You're better than that.

Unable to sit,

Shawn