Dear Chase Bank on 42nd and Broadway,

I have just gone through menopause while waiting to order a bank draft. Why oh why would you only have one person who can take care of foreign exchange in a busy midtown (heavily populated by foreign tourists) branch? And why oh why do you see fit to let all tellers go on their lunch hour at the same time when most of your customers do their banking at lunch time? And you don't even give free pens and candy! At least Commerce gives you free pens and lollipops.
I guess you also took down the sign that said you get $10 if you're not served in less than 5 minutes orobably 'cos you knew you'd go broke. As I left the bank there were 10 people on line and all equally frustrated. Might I suggest a novel idea to you? You know where you have the sign that says "Customer Service" and "Teller Service" that you actually offer that? It's a crazy idea but it just might work. I wasted 15 minutes of my precious lunch hour today and still did not get served. Lollipopland, here I come.
- Fiona

Dear Douchebag Boss,

Why must you fall into that stereotypical role of being an asshole boss? Not only are you NEVER able to cop to a mistake, you have the uncanny ability to point out my mistakes within milliseconds of making them, no matter how inconsequential.

Also, please stop making me feel uncomfortable in the bathroom. I don’t mind that you always pick the urinal right next to me, or that you have to “shake” longer than the average fella, that is cool, I fucking love that. It’s when you share your thoughts on immigration, minorities, and how“black coaches in the NFL will never win the big one because….well you know”. In addition, the disappointed look you give me, when I don’t laugh, or agree, leads to even more discomfort.

Your eating habits make me want to projectile vomit on your penny loafers (Take the pennies out you big fag,this isn’t 1984). You eat with a mouth more open than Paris Hilton’s on a night out with the New York football Giants. Here’s a tip, if you EAT WITH YOUR MOUTH CLOSED, then maybe you won’t be so hungry ALL THE TIME, and the good majority of the food won’t be falling out of your shitty mouth before you can even swallow it.

Shut your filthy shit-hole mouth douchebag!

Sincerely,
Annonymous

Dear douchebag drives and pedestrians,

So I was out for a good portion of the afternoon running some errands. I was getting generally frustrated driving store to store looking for my (apparently) hard to find "products."

Anyway, I was really trying to keep my cool on the road. No sense in getting all worked up over other's stupidity. But, now that I am home - I need to vent. I am a nice driver, I let people over, I let people turn in front of me – even if there is nobody behind me, I stop for pedestrians. I do all the nice things that I wish people would do for me. Especially when I am trying to cross the road in the middle of a fucking rainstorm!!! All that I ask in return for my kindness is a little wave. Just one little acknowledgement that I did something polite and you recognize it and appreciate it. I deserve that. I have surrendered my right of way (except you pedestrians), all I ask is a half assed hand in the air "thank you." A simple nod to let me know that you know that I care – and that maybe you will return the favor to somebody in the future.

I am so sick of your fat, smoking, guess jean wearing ass pulling out in front of me like your POS car owns the road. The only thing you own is the back 1/3 of that rust bucket with the "Bush" bumper stickers holding the back window together. Just because you are dumb and ugly doesn't mean that you don't have to be polite. But I am limiting myself. It is not just the “heaps” that act this way. Those of you in your SUVs and your luxury cars do the same thing. And the minivans, too. No category is safe from the wrath of this letter. Wake up and learn to be polite, douches. We all drive, we all share the road together. Where are you really going that is more important then where I am going? Taco Bell? Or perhaps you heard there was a sale at Wal-mart? Unless you are being held at gunpoint, or have a pregnant woman in the back – there is no need for your rudeness.

And, because I am on this rant, I am going to get specific about my trip today. First, I am calling you out “Mr. Old Beat-up Gray Chevy Pick-up Truck.” Yeah – I saw you hit that dog. You insolent fool!!! Granted to dog ran out into the road – but you have a responsibility. There is no reason you couldn’t have seen it running in that yard and at least attempted to stop. Fuck face. Then, after you HIT IT you could have stopped too – and at least pretended to care. I stopped. It seems that the dog was lucky. He was scared and bruised, but not dead. Of course there could have been internal bleeding, but I don’t know how to check for that. Dickhead.

Next “shout-out” is to you “Mr. Punk-ass teenage bad driver, not looking where you are going.” If you are going to peel-out of a parking lot and try to “merge” with moving traffic, make sure that cars aren’t stopped. It has been a long time since I have heard a noise as loud as you slamming into that lady that was clearly NOT moving!!! Great, you have a V6 in that gold thing you think is a sports car – but guess what?!?! NOBODY CARES!!! All that people care about is that you watch the road and at least pretend to know how to drive. Pay attention and maybe your insurance rates will go down…and your hood won’t be held down with duct tape. Heathen. I cannot stand you.

OK – I have said enough. I will just leave you all with this message. I am on my last leg. I am about to not be polite on the road. I am tired of giving, giving, giving. Unless you change your ways, I am going to change mine. I will no longer let you merge in front of me, or turn early, or you, pedestrians, you can wait in the cold rain. I won’t care, I won’t care unless you wave.

Yours Truly,
Gordon

Dear Douchebag John Mark Carr,

I hope your family does the right thing and commits your delusional, sociopathic, predatory ass to a hospital for the rest of your natural life so you can get the lobotomy that you need, your a sick sick fuck and I pray that any children whom have been vicitimized by you in the past tells their mommies and hauls your ass off to prison.
-Natasha

Dear the homeless douchebag who insists on calling MY sidewalk, HIS home,

Thanks for shitting everywhere and moving in all that classy box furniture and broken bicycle parts. Yeah, I really love what you've done with the place. I especially love it when you say Good Morning, like you're the happiest homeless guy on the planet. But you don't fool me; I know you're still drunk from the night before. And now I've had enough! You smell like a sewer, you litter trash everywhere and you shit where I can see it. So, that pretty much makes you a douchebag. I know you're homeless, but you gotta find another sidewalk.

-Kristy K.

Dear Giulia,

I take offense at your latest "Mitt bashing" entry. I have been the governor here in Massachusetts since the "glory days", before we allowed homos to get hitched. Let me be clear, my administration takes no pride in being the first in the history of the United States governorhips to allow pillow biters to legally wed.
I remember back when butt pirates could do whatever they wanted so long as they didn't tell anyone about it. Why do they have to be married like my mommy and daddy were? It's just confusing. I can barely grasp the concept of putting a penis into a vagina, let alone putting one where I make BMs from.

You speak of supposed, abusive heterosexual parent couplings, of which I admit, some may exist. I confess some people have strange parenting techniques. Heck my father spent his off hours diddling shetland ponies and soaking his testes in buttermilk. (He believed it could be possible to have the world's first wrinkle-free scrotum.)

Nonetheless, this is a country that promotes free speech. You have every right to criticize me. In all honesty I just don't want anyone to think I'm gay. I look pretty masculine right? I have Ken doll hair, and a square jaw, and always iron my slacks. What? That's a little gay you say, and Ken is a uneuch? What the hell is a uneuch? Shit, I always though he was just wearing tighty-whities. Uh, nevermind I don't play with dolls. Barney Frank for president! I mean, yay Bush!

Mitterino P. Romney
Governor
Gayssachusetts

(aka Dennis)

Dear Dip n' Dots,

Thanks for lying to me when I was 11.
You are NOT the ice cream of the future.
And don't tell me to be "patient".
It's been 13 years I think I am clearly living in the future.
No, I will not buy into the notion that the future is this never reaching place in time that your ice cream is popular in.
Let's be honest, your ice cream looks cool, but it tastes bland. I find it hard to believe that in the future I will have somehow lowered my taste standards.
Just admit it. You're a bunch of liars.

Sincerely,
Erika Brooks Adickman

Dear one-legged chick on Amazing Race,

First off, why do you go out with such a douchebag, and what in god's name compelled you to go on national television with him? That's not why I'm writing though. Here's why: Why must you keep reminding us you have one leg? WE KNOW! It's real obvious. I love you dearly and commend your bravery, however, slipping the one-legged attribute/weakness into one out of every three sentences or statements is a tad excessive, and is also a prime example of stating the obvious. YOUR LEFT LEG IS ROBOTRONIC!

I understand the concept of overcoming hardships and weaknesses. And I feel as though if your weakness or handicap is great, then, yeah maybe it merits more attention then say a head cold or I dunno ADHD.
The reason I am sensitive to this, is that you are a TV star now. Any other TV stars with obstacles to overcome did not, announce them every third word. For example. When Gary Colemans' character "Arnold" on Different Strokes was ever confronted with a conflict, he never turned to the camera and said, "I am a short, black midget with freakishly child-like features, and I may have some trouble here with this up and coming conflict." When Corky had to do math homework on "Life Goes On", he never had the opportunity to do an inner monologue to the affect of, "Math is hard for me because I'm retarded." (The same could be said for anyone who ever appeared on "Taradise" or that younger Carter brother.)

My advice Sarah. The next time someone tries to make you climb up a wall with a faulty, fake leg, either tell the producers to go fuck themselves for making a one-legged girl climb up a wall, or strap that thing on, keep your mouth shut, and hop to it bitch!

Love,
Dangerous D the Destroyer

Dear Trash Man,

Well just fuck you for not taking the bureau the I threw out. What am I supposed to do with it now? I hauled it outside on Monday and waited all week, since Monday was a holiday and trash day was a day late. Today I go out to get the mail, and the rest of the trash is gone, but that piece of shit bureau is still there.

People in this shitty town throw out couches and tables and bureaus all the time, and you always take them. What's wrong with my bureau? Too nice for you? God damn you for judging my trash as too good for you. It's trash. So take it. That's your job, you uppity trash man.

Love,
Maria

Dear Douchebg co-worker who won't let me take a dump in peace,

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Originally uploaded by Giulia1.

We don't have many moments to ourselves during a days work. But one thing that I hold near and dear to my heart is my alone time in the bathroom. After scoping out and settling into a quiet, uninhabited facility, why do you ALWAYS come barging in and disrupt my focus?
Now, I know that nature calls and there are times when you need to go ASAP, I totally understand that. This isn't the problem. The issue is that after I sit in the stall next to you, and wait patiently for you to wipe, you take 25 minutes to leave the bathroom! Aside from washing your hands and taking a quick glance in the mirror, you feel the need to do everything humanly possible to stay in there. First it’s the lipstick, followed by the blush, and then the eye shadow. Then we move on to flossing the teeth, popping some tic-tacs and blowing your nose. Now lets go through your giant bag to look for something else to do! Oh look! You found your planner! Lets see what else you have to do this week! Make a hair appointment? Great! Lets call… RIGHT NOW. Damn it! They don't have any appointments with Janet on Thursday? Now what?
Glad this is all going on while I sit here, waiting. Next time I'm just going to take a dump on your desk you big douche.
Sincerely,
Big V

Dear Raver on the L train this morning,

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Originally uploaded by Giulia1.

Now that was an unusual look, even for Williamsburg: a full-on rave outfit in 2006. Wacky dyed hair, gigantic nylon camo-print pants with ribbons, and all sorts of other nonsense. I didn't realize that someone could be in a K-hole for 14 years!
Just curioso, have you been wandering lost in the train tunnels all these years after your glow stick and matching necklace went out? Are you trying to start up the revival, or did you just perforate your brain with too much E like that girl in the extasy special on MTV? Oh well, maybe this is unfair and you really are a productive member of society. But not from the looks of things.
Love,
Cokane