Open Letter to a Customer and a Clerk at Best Buy, and to The Deutsche Grammophon Company
Dear Customer:
I am writing to apologize. While you too were spending your Friday night at the Best Buy perusing BluRay discs, you at least were in the company of two openly nerdy friends, whereas I was alone, and listening in. Also, I was gassy, so if you detected a smell coming from A-D, I was having a reaction to Aeon Flux.
When your two openly nerdy friends (A nerd couple! A rarity!) asked if anyone had seen THX 1138 you described it as weird. This description was apt, and totally fair. I am apologizing because of my unnecessary commentary. Without looking up at any of you, I added, simplistically: “I am forced to agree. It is super weird.”
Chicken Soup for the Soup: A Nostalgickish Father/Son Parable
When I was a young boy, my father was always giving well timed and meaningful advice. When I was first learning to ride my bike, he turned to me and said “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear”, and I knew that he meant if I wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up it would be okay with him. On another occasion, as I was dealing with a bully, he leaned down and whispered in my ear “Do you think you could take your old man in a drinking contest?” and I knew that he meant I should follow a path of non-violent resistance.
Sally Jenkins, Space Police Special Corp Major
Sally Jenkins slouched back in her chair. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t close to over. She had taken a lot of cheap shots on her way up the ladder, but you don’t get to be a major in the Space Police Special Corps without having a thick skin. She placed her Laser Blaster Pistol Gun on the desk, and dialed up a hot drink on the drinkenator.
Open Letter from Che Guevera to Future Generations
Dear Future generations,
I am flattered and deeply honored that young people, and people of many ages have come to afford me a somewhat iconic status. I do not wish to appear ungrateful, and I am glad I have been chosen as the unofficial face of revolutionary politics.
However, I feel I must tell you that I did not bust my ass fighting government forces in the stinking hot Cuban countryside so my face could be worn on the chest of every douchebag who heard a Rage Against the Machine album.
Two Open Letters of Complaint
1:
Dear Kellogg’s:
You are no doubt aware that you are the manufacturer of Frosted Flakes. If you are not aware of this fact, you should be. I am going to presume you are, indeed, aware. Of this fact. You guys make Frosted Flakes. Your “Frosted Flakes”, which are puffed corn of some variety or another, have the unlikely mascot of an anthropomorphic tiger, who wears a scarf for some reason. This he does, and I can only surmise, because Tony is a gang member, or possibly a barnstormer.