Dear Mother Nature:
It’s May. MAY! 44 is not acceptable. Neither 90. Or 32.
Dear Asshole with the Fat Chicks Can’t Jump sticker:
Sorry your penis is so small.
Let me see if I have this straight. Friends, strangers, burglars, ax-murderers, and politicians: “Welcome! Come in! Can I get you a snack?” Squirrels, robins, turkeys*, the wind: “KILL IT WITH FIRE!” Alrighty, then.
*Actual turkeys. Obviously, jive turkeys are OK.
Dear Bigoted, Homophobic Asshole on Twitter/Facebook:
Eat a bag of (preferably gay) dicks!
I am forty-four damned years old. Cut the shit!
Stop mixing up my phone contacts with other people’s twitter/facebook info. I’m pretty sure my 9 year old daughter isn’t a mother of four.
Dear Boy Scouts:
It’s not enough.
Thank you for existing. I love you best.
The other side of that door is exactly the same as it was when you were over there 5 minutes ago. And 10 minutes ago. And 14 minutes ago. And 20 minutes ago. And 23 minutes ago. STOP IT!
Try and hurry up with the curing all diseases, so you can get to work on the self-cleaning house.