Dear William “Brent” Morse,
You know I have a thing for mailmen. Always have, always will. My infatuation with postal carriers is not due to their toned calf muscles (although that certainly helps), but their diligence and commitment. When I see my mailman striding valiantly through stinging hail or stifling humidity to ensure timely delivery of my O magazines and impulse Etsy purchases, how can I not fall in love with him a little bit? But you, Mr. Morse, do not fall into this category. You might have worked as a mailman in Kentucky for 5 years, but “worked” is not the correct term for what you actually did. Keep reading »
Dear U.S. Air Marshal Adam Joseph Bartsch AKA Adam,
I’m beyond disappointed, Adam. As an air marshal, you should know how to behave on an airplane, especially when you’re on active duty. Using your rank to board the plane first and then taking upskirt photos with your cellphone as the rest of passengers headed down the aisles is such a grotesque abuse of power and position. And how could you possibly think you’d get away with it, with a walkway full of witnesses? It didn’t take long for one of your female victims to notice the pervy photoshoot you were conducting without her permission and she didn’t hesitate to snatch your phone away and complain to the flight attendant. The plane was grounded for an hour — I’m sure everyone loved that — while you were hauled off to the pokey after admitting to your misdeeds. Now you’re in the process of being suspended and/or fired, as the TSA does not tolerate criminal behavior and is fully cooperating with investigators. I don’t expect you’ll be flying on a plane in an official capacity again. Keep reading »
Dear Joji Kondo,
You lied to me! You told me the 200 bicycle seats sitting in our basement were from a faulty shipment at work and that you would be examining them as part of your company’s initiative on quality control. You started spending more time in the basement — sniffing the seats, straddling them and licking them. I thought it was strange, but I know you have a passion for bicycles, so I let it go because I loved you. When we were out, I saw you eyeing parked bicycles. You looked at them in lascivious way. You had a particular fondness for the ones with child seats. I tried my best to interpret it as part of your mad genius for mechanical engineering. Keep reading »
Dear Guy Who Got A Gorilla Tattoo On The Back Of His Head,
Listen, I thought our relationship was going pretty well. I thought your bald spot was cute. I really liked your taste in beaded chokers. And then you went to the tattoo parlor, and came back with … this. What am I supposed to do when I wake up in the middle of the night and this thing’s staring at me from your pillow?! Sorry to say it, but we’re gonna have to break up. I hope you and your fearsome head gorilla live happily ever after.
I know it’s been a hard year for you, since you came in second in last season on “MasterChef.” Look, the truth was, no matter how perfect your dark chocolate soufflé was (and it was pretty damn perfect … Graham Elliot looked like he was mouth-fucking it), you never stood a chance of beating Christine Ha. A blind chef who cooks like an angel? Come on. Book deal gold. And you, just a 7′ 2″ college basketball player with a passion for food. It’s a good story, but not good enough, even though your final meal was better than Christine’s.
Josh, I know it’s been hard for you to accept your loss. I thought you were going through a hard time. I’ve noticed that you’ve been sullen and withdrawn, more erratic than ever. But clearly, I didn’t realize how bad things were. It was wrong of me not to force you to get help before it was too late. Keep reading »
Dear Ian Jett, Subway sandwich artist in Columbus, Ohio,
Look, I get it. You don’t like your job. Sometimes when we’re bored at work, we have this overpowering desire to whip out our genitals and rub it all over things. It’s totally understandable.
But why did you have to be so dumb to let someone take a picture of it and post it on Instagram under your real name? Keep reading »
Dear Kenneth Webster Enlow,
Now, I do love a man who goes after what he wants. Initiative is hot! Motivation is sexy! The problem, though, is that you wanted to be a peeping tom inside a septic tank in the women’s restroom at a public park. Keep reading »
Dear Luis Briones,
You just got arrested in New Mexico after crashing your car. Police could tell pretty quickly you were driving drunk, which is already a dealbreaker, but it quickly became apparent that something else had contributed to your little “accident.” Maybe it was because you were found hiding in a cactus(?!) wearing only one shoe and had your shorts on inside out, or maybe it’s because your female passenger was totally naked, but you eventually got busted for not only driving under the influence, but having sex while driving under the influence. While a small part of me is impressed by your ability to multitask, a much larger part of me is disgusted by your complete disregard for other people’s safety.
I think it’s safe to say: we’re breaking up.
No longer yours,
Well, you really screwed this one up. You thought it’d be sooooo funny to pretend to be a baby and get in a McDonald’s-provided high chair? But you didn’t count on getting stuck in there, did you?
Cork, Ireland, police were rushed to the scene, and had to pry you out of the high chair. And dude, you were there all by yourself. Keep reading »