Dear Ticket Inspecting Douchebag in Melbourne...

Thanks for being too lazy and too impatient to wait for me to find my ticket before fining me..
I got the infringment notice in the mail today

I suppose it's not all your fault.
It's not your fault you're an angry little douche with a petty little life.
It's not your fault you suffer from premature baldness a big fat gut and you're a douche.
It's not your fault you're furious you're not a real cop and can't carry a gun .. (thank the lord of the douchebags for that one!)
It's not your fault the only power you have in this world is by being a douche and ruining peoples days doing random acts of douchebaggedness ..
It's not your fault, you're just a simple douche trying to make a living.

I worked 2 days to pay that ticket... you are a douche...and nobody will ever love you... because you're a douche.


MojoJoJo

Dear Fast and Furious wannabe,

Who the fuck do you think you are? Yes, you own a Honda Accord, and yes it has ground FX, a fluorescent pink racing stripe and a huge yellow spoiler in the back. And yes, more than likely you should be at home doing your homework or attending to one of your out of wedlock children, but that does not give you the right to spin your tires out seventeen million fucking times in a row, in front of my place while I’m trying to watch ROME.
You fucking loser. If I wasn’t terrified of red heads and non-caucasians, and didn’t have a bum knee, I would totally walk out on my back deck and give you a stink eye. I wouldn’t raise my hands or wave them aggressively at you, I wouldn’t flip you off or yell curses at you, I would just stare and you would know, you were fucking up my night.
So listen Vin Diesel, the next time one of the cats from a rival gang challenges you to a race off or jerk off down by the beach, please make sure to remind him there’s a husky looking white dude who will totally stare you down and make you feel guilty if you decide to race there.

Denny

Dear Douchebag in RI,

ZToy know who you are, and you have some thinking to do. You make me so mad, but at the same time you make me happy. You can be soo good at times, but the rest of the time you are what you say you are a jerk. I wish I could get you to see where i'm comming from and understand my side of the convo. That's all I really have to say and I feel a little better knowing that I got that off my chest. Everything else I have to say i already told you.

-Pam

Dear Department Head Douchebag,

This morning I saw a job posting on Mediabistro for a position at your organization and I knew I would be perfect for. My skills impeccably matched what the company was looking for and the place sounded like somewhere I would totally fit it.

The problem was that I had to send my cover letter and resume to a generic Human Resources email. There was no name to address the letter to - just a plain anonymous email address. And we all know what that means. My cover letter and resume were going to go unnoticed and mostly likely unread with no acknowledgement whatsoever that it was even received.

So, I decided I would go one step above to get my resume noticed. I do some extra work and research to find the name of the person who is in charge of the department this job would be in. And that is exactly what I do.

I find your information.

But before I even email you, I follow the rules of the job posting to a tee and send my cover letter and resume along with my salary requirements to the generic HR email address.

Then I contact you. I mention that I know I was supposed to send my resume to HR and explain that I already did. I followed the job posting rules to the letter. But, I add I did research to find your name and email, so I could send my information directly to you. To get a leg up on the competition. To stand out from the pack. To rise to the top. To show I am perfect for the job.

My email is eloquent, to the point and quite frankly, pretty kiss ass. I’m convinced you will read it, know why I did what I did and perhaps get on the horn to call me in for an interview.

But, how wrong I was.

About 5 minutes late I receive an email from you. I am excited to open it. Could you be getting back to me so quickly about my resume? Was I that convincing? I sit for a moment and when I can’t take it anymore, I click on your email.

It simply reads, “send to HR as noted in job posting.”

I stare at in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter to myself.

You couldn’t even have the decency to read the first fuckin’ sentence of my email, could you?

Douchebag.

Yours truly,
Qraig

Dear Cinema-goer who sat next to me at the "Hannibal Rising" premiere the other night,

Thank you for making a mediocre film experience tortuous by constantly sucking air (or saliva - I'm not sure) through your teeth. What I thought was just an initial "tst tst" response to some pretty gorey visuals on screen turned out to be a non stop suckfest for the duration of the movie. I thought maybe then you had a tic, an involuntary nervous habit as the sucking sound seemed to escalate during more frenzied and violent parts of the movie (of which there were many). So I tried to exhihit some retraint and practice patience sensing this could be without your control. However as the night wore on and the sound grated on my ears and pulled my focus from the juiciest parts of Hannibals early years, I found myself wanting to slap you and wishing that if indeed you had some condition of oversalivation or tension tic, you would sit the hell away from me. I know this is harsh but the cinema was not full and seeing as you yourself complained about someone crossing back and forth
in front of you before the show even started, one would surmise you might be more responsive to the annoying habits of yourself and find yourself an empty seat. Next time perhaps a matinee show where you can suck, suck, suck to your hearts content.

-Fiona