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The Last Funny One |
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| Dear
Earl the Adjuster:
You are nauseating. Every morning, I get one of your revolting dictation tapes. When I put my earphones on and press play, I am treated to the sound of you talking, then pausing, then gulping coffee right into my ear, then talking again. Occasionally, you will smack your lips together. And sometimes you’ll even suck the coffee off your lips loudly. (At least I hope to god that’s what that sound is.) Do you have a throat the size of a sewage pipe? Why must you gulp your coffee as if you are dying of thirst? Why must you smack and slurp? And why in the name of all that is holy must you keep the microphone ON while you are doing all of this? Or did I get your dictation tape mixed up with “Lonely Prisoners Say Hello To Nice Ladies, Volume III”? Queasily,
Dear CBS: Oh, you got me. You got me good. I’m really loving this stupid Survivor show. I totally want Richard to win it all—he is smooth. He outsmarted Jeff “Captain Smarm” Probst at the Council, and now has four people on his team who won’t vote him off. He’s a smart player. Plus, he comes up with good ideas, like the floaty arrow. With his extra weight and better upper body strength, he could easily have beaten stupid Gervase in the boat race—Kelly was a dumb choice. (It seems that nobody on that team knew that more weight equals more speed, because they put Richard last.) Plus, he walks around all naked next week. That takes, pardon the visual here, balls. I also hear that “Joel” and “Greg” are two different people. Could you confirm this rumor? Thanks,
Dear Fat Ass, I took you to the doctor yesterday and lo and behold: you’re fatter than I thought you were. This. Is not. Good. I’m putting you on a strict diet from now on. It’s called the “Fuck it, I’m never eating again” diet. You can only consume things that are under 5 calories. Diet Dr. Pepper, clear broth, baby food and celery. Maybe, if you’re really good, you can have a piece of air popped popcorn next February. But don’t count on it. Love,
Dear Matt, I do not have PMS. Just because I climbed into bed last night and grabbed my pillow, and yelled “Give me back my goddamn pillow!” while trying to choke you doesn’t mean I have PMS. And when you made that face, with the sad eyes and the trembly lip, and said, “I just wanted to share. Don’t you want to share with me?” and I started crying like a baby because you looked so heartbroken, that had nothing to do with PMS. I was thinking of a sad movie that I saw where, like, the doggie dies at the end. So there’s no need to laugh at me and tell me my PMS is so cute. Because I don’t have PMS. Now give me some chocolate before I kill you. Love,
Dear Crazy
Dog Lady:
As you know, every other Tuesday is called “cut off” around here. We indicate this on the calendar by using a cute graphic—perhaps a pair of scissors or a guillotine or something amusing. This month, Joan opted for a cute graphic of lumberjacks cutting down trees. This letter is to clarify something. The trees ARE NOT REAL. The lumberjacks are NOT REAL EITHER. This is JUST A CARTOON. There is no need to take your calendar and use liquid paper to blot out the saw because you, “just can’t stand seeing those poor trees being cut down.” I didn’t think you could fit another layer on the crazy cake, but you did. Oh, one more thing. You see that guy standing over there? That’s my good friend, Sanity. Remind me to introduce you sometime… I don’t think you’ve met. Monique |
marku:
 What I'm Reading: While I Was Gone. bittersweetJournal Quote of the Day: “Steve Buscemi is now an official ex-member of the Hollywood Pretty Boys Poker Club and Steve Buscemi..'”Random Tidbit: Dear readers,Please click these links. It doesn’t cost you a dime, but it gets me one. Mo at the Movies: Chicken Run Work Days Left: 30 |
