Dear Whoever Organizes My High School's Graduations,

Only let the students and the principal speak. They are the only ones who know about the school, and themselves, and they are the only ones who know how to write. The mayor, school board chairman, and spokesperson of the class of 1958 do not deserve their PHD's, because they clearly did not pass a basic English class in college.


Dear Book Banners,

Stop. Breathe. Read the whole books, not just the highlighted section. Thanks.


Dear Dog on My Floor,

I love you!


Dear Eating Two Pieces of Cold Pizza and then drinking a Mountain Dew,

Who thought you were ever a good idea? You suck! I hope you crawl into a hole and DIE! Yes, that's right. Yeah, I know. That's a threat. BRING IT ON!


Dear Writing a Book For No One in Particular,

You are great. I love you. But, really, I don't think are relationship is very healthy. I mean, you're spontaneous and sexy, but someone's going to stare at us one day, and I'll end up so broke that it's a joke one day. And even though I've dreamed of it, I'd rather attempt to write for an audience so I can actually make, like, a dollar, you know, so I can buy two packages of Juicy Fruit.


Dear Grass,

You smell like bananas.


Dear Alan Rickman,

I wish had your phone number so I could call your answering machine and remind you to take the pork chops out of the freezer.


Dear Twins,

Please stalk some random person one day and when that person's least expecting it, say, "come play with us!" at the same time in a really creepy voice. You'll scare the crap out of that unsuspecting person, and I would find it quite humorous.


Dear window,

How the heck do you let in little twigs from the tree outside? I can't see a hole in you! Are you opening when I'm sleeping and letting the twigs rest on my sill just before my CD player, or does someone slink into my room when I'm not there and leave a lot of crap on my windowsill? Any way, can you let me know? You perplex me.

Dear Leo,

I want to start by apologizing. But you're filled with ticks. The last time I visited you I found 18 on my legs and one on my stomach. And that's weird. How the heck did it get on my stomach? And I know I'm totally being a dumper, here, but if you weren't so infested I'd totally bring my easil over and paint you. Because you're gorgeous.

Dear Boys Who Hug Girls Vigorously,

If you like us, you should just tell us. Because we're not sure if you want to rape us or shake all the impurities off. At first, your hugs are a little surprising and welcoming, I guess, because they're enthusiastic, but later, we're like, "Okay. I know you love me a lot, but that's my chest. Yep. Oh yeah. You're picking me up. My legs aren't on the ground. I am swinging. Hokay. Should have seen that coming." And then we predict that you'll do that every time you see us, and it starts to be a routine. So you should make your intentions clear. We won't rebuff you. After all, we let you hug us like that.


Dear Men of the College of My Choice,

I really hope that you're good looking, but I have night mares that you won't be. Don't disapoint me.