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 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 the State of Arizona

An Open Letter to the State of Arizona

Dear Arizona:


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 hating my alarm clock 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!


Totally jealous of you,


Heather
Oklahoma, USA


cc: Hawaii

An Open Letter to My Credit Card

An Open Letter to My Credit Card


Dear Credit Card:

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, I'm breaking up with you, you jackhole. 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.

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 paying 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.

It's not you. It's me. Well... actually, it is you. It's 100% you, and you suck.

Not so fondly,

Heather
(your soon to be debt-free ex)

P.S. I've been seeing someone else. His name is Ca$h Money.

An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock

An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock


Dear Alarm Clock:


I hate you.

That is all.


Sincerely,

Me

An Open Letter To My Pretentious Neighbor

Dear Pretentious Neighbor,

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

I hope you get drunk and burn your eyebrows off with your mini grill,

Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To The Idiot Who Almost Ran Into Me In The Mall Parking Lot

Dear Idiot Who Almost Ran Into Me In The Mall Parking Lot,

Do you see those bright yellow arrows on the cement? They indicate which way you can turn into the parking lanes. You CANNOT drive the wrong way or you will cause a head-on collision...like the one you almost caused tonight by going the wrong way, full speed ahead, then looking angrily at me like I was the one at fault. I hope someone totals your car. Merry f**king Christmas, dickworm!

You are a shitty driver,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To The Geek Squad

Dear Geek Squad,

Thanks for taking THREE weeks to fix my computer. I probably could have figured out how to repair it in that amount of time. Oh, and thanks for NOT calling me to tell me it was ready to pick up. Awesome, awesome job guys. Do any of you EVER get laid? Just wondering.

F**k You All,

Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Funky Facts

Dear Funky Facts,

Stop going around giving me and my blogging posse frownie faces on Humor-Blogs.com. Since you're only 17 years old, I'll be nice because MAYBE you don't realize how this whole blogging thing works. First of all, if you want people to read your blog (and in case you didn't know, 99% of people who read blogs are your fellow bloggers) you need to create a postive relationship with us. Which means, you DO NOT give frownie faces to blog posts that are actually very funny. If you don't like them, just don't do anything...it's that simple. But don't be a douche and give a frownie face because that actually deducts point from a post. This is your warning...trust me, you don't want me to sic my blogging bitch Queenie on you. I'm pretty sure she makes grown men cry and would make you shit yourself. So...just stop what you're doing and we'll be cool, kepeesh?

Don't Be A Dick,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Aunt Flo

Dear Aunt Flo,

Bitch, where the hell have you been the last two weeks?! I'm just going along, thinking everything is fine and dandy, expecting you any minute and then...nothing. I start to freak out, think maybe my "pull out and pray" method of birth control is perhaps not the most effective for a single girl to be using. You even made me go so far as to look up "early signs of pregnancy" on Web MD! Aunt Flo, you had me thinking about my future, picking out cribs online, thinking about how I would have to turn my guest room into a nursery. You made me have the "awkward talk" with the prospective baby daddy about a possible bun in the oven.

And, FINALLY, you show up all late and totally unapologetic. You also brought with you an uninvited guest, PMS. She's a real bitch. She makes me want to cry and rip someone's face off all at the same time. I swear to God, Aunt Flo, the next time you put me through something like this, we're finished. I'm scheduling a hysterectomy and getting all my lady parts removed so you can't fuck with me anymore. Either that, or I better be preggers cause if I'm going through all that stress, I'm getting a cute baby out of it. Oh, and you better stop by the store cause I'm all out of tampons.

Feeling crampy,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter To Miley Cyrus

Dear Miley,

Why the fuck are you EVERYWHERE? How do I even know who you are? I thought I was done with your hillbilly family after your dad's incredibly annoying "Achy Breaky Heart" finally faded away. But no, he had an ace in his pocket (or should I say his sperm) when you were born. I first remember hearing about you because my nephew had a crush on your ass a few years ago. That's when you were better known as "Hannah Montana" and hadn't yet blossomed into the full-blown whore you are now.

At first, I thought, "What a cute kid. She's funny and she can sing, too." Then, almost overnight, you turned into this big-lipped 16 year old slut who's fucking a 20 year old. Hmm, do you still wear your purity ring? I'm thinking that's a big "hell no" since the last pics I saw of you were not so pure. You had on a wet, white t-shirt with a bikini top underneath and you were helping your fuck buddy "wash" his car. I'm just curious, aren't you a millionare? Couldn't you PAY someone to wash the damn car? Or did you just want to get some wet t-shirt pics into all the tabloids?


I can't wait until five years from now when you will either be a complete washed up has been ala your daddy or just another strung out drug addicted child star ala Lindsey Lohan. You better get knocked up soon so you too can have a dynamic kid just like yourself and ride their coat tails when you're forty... and the tale of the Cyrus family saga continues.

P.S.- I hope you and your loser best friend read this and then make fun of it on your super cool YouTube broadcasts. They are not dumb, lame, or mindnumbing to watch whatsoever.

Hope this makes you cry,
Brooke Amanda

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.