An Open Letter to the Remote Control

An Open Letter to the Remote Control


Dear Remote Control:


Where are you? I'm tired of your little games. I know you're not in the couch cushions; I already checked there.

Show yourself.


Regards,

Heather

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 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 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 Tostitos Scoops

Dear Tostitos Scoops,

I apologize for the tardiness of my letter, as I realize you’ve been on the market for the last few years. But as I’m sitting here tonight, enjoying my friend’s homemade salsa, I’m wondering how the hell anyone ever ate salsa (or any dips) before you came along?

I know that flat tortilla chips are still made, but I shudder to think what kind of child-molesting cretin would even bother with those flat bitches? Flatties don’t hold a candle to your voluptuous curves that envelope a dip like an old lover in a tender embrace. You not only hold my salsa with confidence, but you ensure that every last bit of it makes it to my mouth and not my shirt. Your shape reminds me of the cradle used to hold the blessed baby Jesus. And when food resembles a religious figure, you know it’s going to be delicious. God bless the person who created you! There’s a special place in heaven for this tortilla chip saint.

Keep On Scooping,
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