An Open Letter to My OkCupid Stalker
Remember me? I don't want to brag, but you checked out my OkCupid profile every day for months before finally messaging me with "wink…wink… what’s your bra size."
Remember me? I don't want to brag, but you checked out my OkCupid profile every day for months before finally messaging me with "wink…wink… what’s your bra size."
From wedding rehearsals, to cookouts, to sporting events, you've clothed my legs creaseless and made me appear super-intelligent. But now your time is over.
Unmanned drones are killing innocent humans every day on this planet, but all of that is weak sauce compared to a fictional methamphetamine empire TV show.
I don't need your commie food charity, Brocko. What am I supposed to do with all this food? I can't pawn the steaks, I already tried that.
Hey girl, I wanted to sit down and chat over a cup of coffee but for some reason you aren't returning my phone calls. Listen, you cheated. I get it, I understand.
<p>Like most people, I get most of my news from old tabloid magazines that I find in the garbage while looking for food or treasure. Because of this, I am convinced that celebrities live in a glamorous alternate universe that I like to call Tabloidia. It's a world of shocking sex scandals, exposed nipples, and drunken naked chaos.
My initial shock and disbelief quickly dissolved into anger. I knew what I was supposed to do—not litter—but where was the commercial that taught you how to deal with litterers?
Since we're all in this together, I think it's important to look at some of the key issues that are making our time together less enjoyable and work together to fix them.
My name is Copernicus Thunderbird and I'm writing this letter because you are in grave danger. The legions of the Super Astronaut Deathlord are on their way to kill you and rape your wife.
It's difficult to have one more conversation with your lost love. So the only way to give her your last two cents is to write a letter.
Hey, sorry I was a dick when you just wanted some positive feedback. You were candid with me and I didn’t reciprocate. I'm no expert, but here are a few things you should know about stand-up.
Yeah, you—the girl whose picture is plastered all over my yearbook. Just because you’re dead. What makes you think you're so special?