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 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 My Dog

An Open Letter to My Dog

Dear Snuggles:

Please take note of the following...

No, I do not happen to find it cute when you decide to expel the contents of your special butt glands on the couch. Or my bed. Nor do I think it's adorable when you go and plant the aforementioned butt upon my favorite unblemished pillow.

That's not another pit bull across the room that just happens to look exactly like you and coincidentally barks at you at the exact same time as you bark at him. That would be a mirror.

You might want to consider the fact that if you eat something odd, it's probably gonna feel odd coming out the other end, too. Don't eat sticks, rocks, shards of glass, sea anemones, or discarded syringes otherwise it's almost certainly going to feel a bit pokey the second time around. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The same goes for trying to eat the frog you found in the yard. There will likely foaming at the mouth involved within seconds of getting hold of it.

Lastly, that one sticky-uppy ear, the eye patch and the ever wiggly-butt are incredibly endearing and yes, you may use those things to your advantage.

Love,

Heather

P.S. You are my most favoritest thing. Ever.

Our First Award!

We here at The Open Letters Blog would like to thank all the little people that made this award possible. We'd also like to thank the little chihuahua in a cup that made this award so cute. And I think I speak for my fellow bloggers when I say, "Thank you for the recognition!" Actually, I don't speak for the other guys... they're total ingrates.

Thanks to Lindsay over at the awesome blog Shrimp Salad Circus for the great award!

You LIKE us, you really LIKE us!

XOXO,

Heather Cherry

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 That Owl In The Park

Dear Owl,

Me! It's me, Shawn! Now keep your voice down!

Sincerely,
Shawn

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 the Moth That Got Into My Closet

An Open Letter to the Moth That Got Into My Closet and Chewed Itty-Bitty Holes into My Favorite Pair of Pants


Dear Moth:

Not cool, dude. Not. Cool.

Yours truly,

Owner of Pants


P.S. What other things do you hate? Cuz I’m certainly not using those stinky moth balls to get rid of you so you can forget that. I refuse to let my clothes smell like those of an octogenarian. Shall I toss a Nickelback CD in there at you? Just kidding. I would never buy a Nickelback CD.

An Open Letter To Girl Scout Cookies

Dear Girl Scout Cookies,

Why are you so goddamn delicious? I think you are made with equal parts crack, puppies, and baby smell because all those things are awesome AND highly addictive. And I hate you for that. Just a handful of your scrumptiousness has more calories than a Thanksgiving meal with all the trimmings. How is that even possible? I know that every spring, you send out your little army of green sashed bitches to tug at my heart-strings and make me buy more boxes than a single girl could ever need. Oh, just freeze us and save us for later you say. NO! I want to eat you box by box in some Romanesque orgy fashion. I want to gorge on you until I am sick and ready to puke. Having a box in my house that hasn't been eaten yet is like a sex addict having a porn in the DVD player and trying not to watch it. IT CAN'T BE DONE!
I also have a bone to pick with you reguarding your recent name changes. Why are Samoa's now called Carmel De-Lites and Tag-A-Longs now called Peanut Butter Patties? I liked the old names. And what happened to the original Girl Scout Shortbread Cookie that was shaped like a Girl Scout's head? Did some Debbie Downer decide it was too morbid to eat a Girl Scout's head? I never liked them anyway, but it's still the principle of the matter. I like tradition. You show a box of them on your website, but they were nowhere to be found on the order form I filled out. Maybe you should look into that and consider bringing all the old stuff back. Don't worry, you could call your cookies "Nut Sack Sweat" and I would still eat them. I love you. I'll be seeing you next spring.

A former Brownie,
Shopgirl101

An Open Letter to the Squirrels Living in My Attic

An Open Letter to the Squirrels Living in My Attic

Dear Squirrels:

Seriously? It's been, like, 3 years and you're still up there? You're really acting like buttholes. Please go away. I hate you.

Warmest regards,

Me

P.S. You're annoying the crap out of my dog.

An Open Letter to the Skanky Guy

An Open Letter to the Skanky Guy

Dear Skanky Guy Who Pulled up Next to Me at a Red Light the Other Day and Said, “What Kind of Car is That?” to Which I Replied, “A Smart Car,” and Then You Asked, “Do You Plug it in?” and I Answered, “No, I Wind it up With a Gigantic Key,” While Pantomiming the Winding of a Gigantic Invisible Key, and You Were All, “Really?” and I Was Like, “No.” And Then You Asked, "Can I Drive It?" and to Your Great Surprise I Was Like, "No!" And Then When You Saw Snuggles in the Passenger Seat, You Queried, “Is That a Pit?” and When I Answered, “Yes,” You Said, “Oh. That’s Tight.” And Then You Were Like, “Are You Single?” and I Was Like, “No.” and You Were All, “Oh. Okay. Have a Nice Evening, Then”:

Don’t. Don’t do that.

Sincerely,

Me