Dear tasteless truck-drivers,

(As suggested by Cygnus...)

Come, come, now. Let's be reasonable. You are a tool.

The earth will experience more than one ice age before I roll down my window on the highway and give my phone number to you, despite your waving and nodding, and the fact that you've been driving adjacent to me for the past mile and a half. Why? Because you are a tool. How do I know this? Easy.
1. You have a sticker on your window that says "My other toy has tits."
2. You have empty boxes of Natural Light in your truck bed.
3. You have bull testicles hanging from your hitch. Which, of course, means that your balls are showing. And no matter the situation, all other things being equal, if I can say to you "Excuse me, but your balls are showing." I've gained the upper hand. Indefinitely.

Sincerely (singing),

Nevagonnagetitnevagonnagetit

Dear FAFSA

I hate you. I wish I could understand your cruel, cold-hearted ways. How you give me the run-around for days with your hundreds of forms and ugly fill-in-the-blanks. You stare blankly back at me when I yell at you. And then, after all we've been through together, you tell me that you expect me to contribute 44% of my annual income to my education. What are you, a sub-prime mortgage!?

Bastard.

Sincerely,

Future MPA, no thanks to you.

Dear Walgreens:

I think that every year we have this conversation. It seems that you don't listen to me Walgreens. I know you enjoy Halloween, and that you try to get a big push in sales this year, but the depths you're going to - well - let's just say that you're getting desperate, Walgreens. And no one likes a needy drug store.

The flying ghouls, the severed heads, the creppy sound effects in every corner, the fake cobwebs covering food and make-up items, the spider rings, the tombstones, the pumpkins. It's only the beginning. Why do you feel like you have to try so hard? You know that you are the only drug store for me, but when fall comes around, well, you're just a bit clingy. I know that if I need Halloween candy you're right down the street. I know that you carry an assortment of Halloween decorations, you don't have to fly them at me, or put them in every aisle to make sure I have enough life-like tombstones with real sound effects for my yard.

I don't need your black and orange Christmas lights for my house, I won't need a black cat pillow for my couch, and I certainly do not need a 12 foot ringwraith flying in my yard. Thanks, but no thanks, Walgreens, on your holiday to nowhere.

-Blech.
-Me.

Dear Mr. Creeper,

No, thank you for the compliment. No, thank you to the offer. No, I do not want to give you a nickname. What was that you just ordered? You want me to put honey in your coffee? Do you just like to hear me say 'honey'? Ass. Stop touching my hand. Stop talking to me. Take your drink and go. You should know, that from now on, I will do my best to see to it that we never speak face-to-face again.

And no, thank you, I don't want to come over and watch your kid.

Hold my hand again, you'll lose it-

Me

Dear John McCain:

What exactly are you trying to say when you say you are the 'Original Maverick'? If by saying that, you hope to evoke images of you and Mel Gibson gambling and sleeping your way all over the Wild West with James Garner and Jodi Foster, then congratulations, that's exactly what comes to mind every time I hear your commercials.

Sincerely -
Confused American Citizen.

Dear Panera Bread,

Why do you always give me the butt-end of the baguette? For once, I would like to taste the warm, sweet delight of the middle.

kiss my crusty butt(end-of-the-baguette),

me

Dear 27 year old Actor playing the lead in Disney's 'High School Musical' at the Local Theatre, reprising a role first done by Zac Efron:

I'm sorry, dude.

Embarrassed for you-
me