By staff writer Mitch Cundiff

This is an open letter to something that I am not sure even exists. I have searched long and far, but I have yet to find you. I seem to get closer and closer with every attempt, but I am constantly let down. As I crawl into bed every night and my thoughts drift to you, I can’t help but doubt that you are even real. I pray that I find you soon, oh haunter of my dreams. I pray that I find you soon, girl that does not annoy the complete fucking shit out of me.

I stroll down the hallway at school, scanning the crowds for any beautiful spirit without a cell phone glued to her head. “OMG I got so wastteeeeddddd. I like, totally like, blah blah like, blah blah, like like.” As I bring my extended palm back towards my body, examining the fresh handprint upon your face, I almost feel sorry. Then you talk, and I high-five myself with the other hand.

I snap out of my fantasy right as the cellular queen passes by laughing about something I’m sure has to do with guys adorning finely trimmed facial hair and tribal tattoos.


NO, I don't want to have sax with you.

Why must you elude me so? I have ventured into the “guy’s girl” territory to see if that is where you are hiding. Turns out all you do is play soccer, burp louder that I can, and work on your punch all day. Not a playful punch, but an “I would probably like to be a man someday” punch. Yeah, that’s great, you like to watch football. That would be awesome if you didn’t look/act like a middle linebacker.

I stroll up behind you in the hallway. Like a beast, my eyes move up and down your figure, examining your near perfect form. Your hair is flowing in locks behind your head, and I can only imagine how beautiful your face is. You turn your head, almost in slow motion and I grow more eager to see you with each passing moment. Your eyes meet mine, and you are, without a doubt, one of the ugliest human beings I have ever seen. I study your features as I contemplate which bridge you crawled out from under. Was it I-95 at Trainwreckville or Golden Gate at the bottom of the water? Your nose could house a family of Puerto Rican immigrants and any one of your zits rivals the size of one of my testicles. (P.S. They’re huge.)

You’re the girl who always gives me deep, penetrating stares in the middle of class. You just broke up with your boyfriend of two years, and you’re fresh on the market. Sure, we can go on a date. Uhh, yeah…I guess I can meet your parents sometime. …What? Tonight? How about we get to know each other first? Maybe you could go down on me? Yeah, I like kids too…what are you getting at? …What’s with all the bridal magazines? NO, I don’t love you. Don’t FUCKING touch me!

Maybe you’re hiding in the art department? You are a free spirit with a creative mind, and a complete disregard for what others think about you. What’s that, save the whales? Fuck whales, there are humans who need to be saved first. What’s that, whales don’t wage pointless wars like humans do? Well, whales don’t have thatches of disgusting armpit hair either, but you do. Buy a razor, shave the whales. And no, I fucking hate tie-dyed shirts.

Hmm, maybe you’re the cute girl who’s always laughing. You always have something to say, and you talk with such enthusiasm. You seem like you have a really good personality and lots of interesting stories to tell. So, where are you from? Oh, that’s a neat city, I went there one time for— …No, I’ve never met Michelle before. She does sound totally awesome though. Actually, she kind of sounds like this girl I knew back in— …Neat, Michelle used to go out with Chad. ANYWHO, yeah, I’m from— …JESUS CHRIST, I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT CHAD’S AUNT, LET ME FINISH A GODDAMN SENTENCE!! Ouch, that hurt.

I walk out of school and notice a church towering in the distance. Maybe that is where I will find you, oh holy light shining down guiding me to paradise. You do not do drugs or drink alcohol, and you treat everyone the same way you yourself would like to be treated. Yeah, God is cool and stuff, whatever. That’s a nice dress you’re wearing. What’s that? Yeah, God did a great job on it. So, maybe you’d like to do something some time? Oh, God likes to do something all the time? That doesn’t really make sense, but okay, whatever you say. What? God makes sense all the time? Hey look over there, the rapture.

As I sprint out of the church to escape Satan’s grasp, I feel hopelessly dejected. I have nowhere to turn, and I will live my life completely alone. All of a sudden, a woman walks up to me and asks me if everything is OK. She looks to be about forty. Nice rack. Some crow’s feet, but hey, no one is perfect. She smiles and takes me in her arms like only an older woman can. She laughs at my jokes, jiggles my balls, and makes me a sandwich.

Ah yes, my search is over. Where have you been hiding, oh MILF of mine?

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