Dear X:

Dear B:

The manner in which you parent is utterly, breathtakingly disgusting. Where should I begin? Shall I start with your wasteland of a house? Let me give one particular example: the other morning, when one of your monster children vomited on the floor, you did nothing more than run a dry mop over it to soak it up. No bleach, no Lysol, no taking your son's temperature, no inquiring about how long he'd been feeling bad. I'll just list some more of the disgusting things I've noticed:

-musty laundry mildewing in the laundry room
-layers of sticky filth crusting your kitchen table and chairs
-monster children who leave food everywhere...including old ass chicken bones
-your fat, lazy non showering, non teeth brushing ass that sits at the computer all day watching endless episodes of whatever fucking anime shows you like to view
-monster children who don't know how to say please, thank you, or you're welcome
-monster children who reach over and grab things that don't belong to them, and then look confused and/or angry when they're told not to do that
-a fucking vicious two year old who likes to terrorize other children and animals
-a seven year old who still speaks like a three year old and who has the reading capability of a three year old. I can't blame this on him since you do nothing but plop your children in front of the t.v. and there's nary a book in the house
-leaving food out every night and then consuming it in the morning (FOOD POISONING????)
-a brown and yellow stained toilet flusher.....until I bleached the goddamn thing


Fuck...I could go on and on...

If you don't give two shits about your kids, then you shouldn't have had any. They're not a fucking excuse to get checks every month, you fat ass, shit breathed, stinking whore.

Love and kisses,
Me
 
Dear X
Thank you for your interest in buying my Motor-caravan. However, it's no good looking at me optimistically as if I really will knock ten grand off the price for you.
Come back when you are a lot nearer my price.
 
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Dear Virus Writer,

Would you please, please, get out of your mother's basement, stop masturbating all day and get a fucking job and stop killing people's computers? Please?

You may think it's extraordinarily entertaining to see how far you can annoy the shit out of some poor network administrator when all they want to do when they get home is write a story, check their email or play a game and instead they have to deal with your brand of infantile bullshit. However, real people don't find this even remotely funny. You're not funny. You're pathetic.
 
Dear body:
Please stop hurting. I know I fell off a ladder today at work but thats no reason for you to be a jerk. Now knock it off!
 
Big (gentle) hug.

Dear X
Would someone please explain a copper sugar kettle ?
Y

Dear X,

First of all thank you for the hug that was lovely and much needed, second of all lol, I work as a Confectioner/ Pastry Chef's assisstant in a hotel. We use Copper Kettles (think kettle corn cauldron type thing, not tea kettle lol) to make candy.

I was on a ladder getting down some molds (for forming perfect truffles) and my shoes were wet, I slipped and fell into the rack of kettles.

(
 
Dear Fiance,

Please stop being injured by inanimate objects, when I got your voicemail I nearly had a heart attack.

There will be no moving of anykind tomorrow, I will order take out and we will watch movies. Or I will Tickle you into submission.

Much Love

TMNT
 
Dear X:

Please for the love of all that is good, stop calling me! I have quite enough to deal with right now and my own emotional issues. Stop calling me to bitch and moan about things that are well within your power to change. Life happens. You lose out on every chance you don't take, and you've made your choices, and missed your chances. It's no longer my problem.

Pixie
 
Dear X:

Why didn't you call me? After everything we went through together, after you pulled me out of the whole you dug yourself into, why didn't you let me help you?

Now instead of watching you graduate, I get to watch them put you in the ground.

I love you Chico, you're my little brother from another Mother; nothing, absolutely nothing, is EVER going to change that.

~ Pixie
 
Chico,

This is my second time being emo on here today, but it just hit me that your gone. I talked to your mom. She asked me to sing next week. I asked her what and she told me to sing our duet. I don't think I can do it without you.

I was supposed to watch you graduate Damn it, I was supposed to be able to tell them all that you were my little brother from another mother. Your mom was supposed to be proud. She was gonna be the proudest mother in the whole place. That regal little mexican Lady was supposed to hold her head up and say "That's my Hijo!" But she's not gonna get that chance now because you were too proud to ask for help.

How could you do that to her? How could you make my mistake?
 
It would be so easy to believe in the magic that is you, but that's the trouble with magic: It's not real. I believe your intentions are mostly genuine, but the execution of them leaves me baffled at times. I know you love me in your own way. I appreciate that I frustrate you because I no longer buy into your codependency. I appreciate that I frustrate you because I'm becoming quite adept at thwarting your attempts to control me emotionally. I appreciate that you've never quite known what to do with me, your "moody" one.

I have to believe you're damaged somehow, because for me to believe the opposite --that you do these things consciously-- I cannot fathom continuing a relationship with you, let alone exposing my son to you. But I believe somewhere in your heart of hearts there is a glimmer left of truth; it is those infrequent moments of unadulterated honesty that entice me to continue. It is in those moments that you are truly great, truly worth knowing. I wish you could see that.

I love you.

Love,
Your Daughter
 
Dear X,

That may have been the most pathetic thing I've ever heard of you doing.

And you've previously set the bar pretty darned high.

j
 
Dear X,

Stop calling her a cripple and treating her like an idot. It's her legs that don't work properly, her brain works fine.

I hope you're injured in such a way that you have her problems. So fuck you. Fuck your self imposed sense of perfection. and FUCK your opinion. If we want to get married on a pagan holy day, we will. If she wants to wear a purple dress, she will, and if I want strippers at my party, I will. Fuck off.

A Disgruntled Future Family Member
 
Dear my-sister's-boobs-that-were-visible-because-she-was-just-sitting-on-her-bed-using-her-laptop-without-clothes-on-when-I-walked-by-her-room,

I am depressed that you are the first pair of breasticles I've seen since January '08.

My life is a cauldron of failure.

sincerely,
~me
 
Dear "putters of old music on YouTube",
It really is absolutely magic to hear the voices of pre-war singers like Dawson and Chaliapin. But in the name of all that's holy, PUT THE BLOODY MICROPHONE CLOSE TO THE HORN: OR USE AN ELECTRIC 78 PLAYER.

Thank you.
 
Dear X:

Would it really kill you, just once to actually pick up the phone instead of letting it go to voicemail? I knowyou would rather fuck off to internet porn than do your job, but it's really getting fucking annoying that I leave voicemail after voicemail and you NEVER return my calls! If it wasn't for the fact that the custody of my son depended on dealing with you, I would consign you to the lowest circle of hell.

*sigh*
 
Dear X:

Would it really kill you, just once to actually pick up the phone instead of letting it go to voicemail? I knowyou would rather fuck off to internet porn than do your job, but it's really getting fucking annoying that I leave voicemail after voicemail and you NEVER return my calls! If it wasn't for the fact that the custody of my son depended on dealing with you, I would consign you to the lowest circle of hell.

*sigh*

*hugs*

Dear Dj:

You are amazing, if you need someone to kick ass for you give me a call

~Pixie
 
An open letter to all people that I don't dislike,

Don't get kicked in the back of the head. It fucking HURTS!!!! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow...
 
Dear X,

Yes I had a hard day. Yes I'm in pain. No I don't care to spend 40 minutes of my only night off talking to you even if you think you're fascinating.

~Pixie
 
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