Open Letters | Page 2 | Points in Case

Tag: Open Letters

Don't forget it's scorching outside—do you really want to inconvenience yourself with a hot face? That's a cruelty no meat should suffer.

Sure, our football team has been subpar ever since Brent Bryerson graduated three years ago, but that isn't a concern.

It’s water under the bridge, just like when you’ve lodged yourself under my couch, even when you overheated and almost set my apartment on fire.

Franz takes issue with his dad for unsolicited career advice and "being a bit of a tyrant" (wait until he meets you, not that it's a competition).

Subsequent to receiving this letter, you will hear ABBA songs inside your head everywhere you go, no matter what you happen to be doing.

Maybe you thought being stinky was intentional on my part, like I decided my “gimmick” is that I’m the bank robber who stinks?

I plan to hit the ground running, and then run some more, and then more, then hit a wall, and then puke on your open laptop.

Due to a disputed public executioner election, political lawn signs are no longer permitted. No decorative flamingos, gnomes, or heads on pikes.

As a proud deciduous piece of American timber, I now see it as my obligation to throw my hat in the ring or, more accurately, my rings in the ring.

But resistance must not be allowed to harden into its own brand of oppression—which That Jerk sitting in my chair is already exploiting.

I eat at dawn. As soon as the sun's crescent pierces the horizon I will eat my dog chow. Or else I will go ape shit.

I've been accused of only looking out for the owners, which is patently false. The products---I mean players!---are my absolute top priority