Letters to the good people of the world: Chicago edition
I didn't need to see that. The image is forever burned into my brain, and I am terrified. Even as it was, you probably still felt imprisoned by the shackles of your thong, but my eyes will never be the same. At first I thought you were just wearing pasty white shorts, but then I realized that those, those weren't shorts at all. And then I wanted to turn the car into the lake and just end it all right there because I knew I couldn't go on. However, I will admit it had to take some courage to step out your front door like...that.
Yours in memory purging,
# # #
Dear Barry Bonds,
While I find it amusing you did not play (the booing must hurt your feelings and your knees), may I have some of what you used? Just a little bit? I'm having a difficult time surviving the rigors of sitting at a desk, and I need a bovine steroid-induced pick-me-up. Please get back to me. It's important. Oh, that's right. What are steroids? My mistake. I need some of that flaxseed oil that did this:
That would be so cool.
Yours in punishing the haters,
# # #
Dear sea gulls that invade Wrigley Field immediately after the game ends,
How is your species so in tune to the workings of a nine-inning baseball game? There are many humans who do not understand the game as well as you guys do. As soon as the third out of the ninth inning is made, your flock swoops in to partake in the forgotten peanuts, pop corn, cotton candy, stale beer and vomit that are left in the bleachers. I'm impressed and amazed.
Yours in eating other people's leftovers,