Hey there. Hi. Howsit goin? Good? You good? You got enough Pellegrino there? Cause I could get you one. I know how you TV types like your fizzy water. And your crack cocaine. Perhaps you�d also like a big, fat bowl to smoke? Just want to make sure you have everything you need so you can finish wrecking my favourite shows. Yeah, I�m talking to you, Joss Whedon! Don�t think I don�t see you there, cowering behind that giant cutout of the Firefly cast! You deserve to come to the plate and take credit for my favourite show completely going to pot. Literally. There are like, bongs laying around the set now, I bet. Sigh. Really. Y'all, I try to hang onto my pathetic hope that we won't go out on an "It's all. about. Spike." note. What? It could happen! The entire writing and production staff could die in a freak bong explosion, forcing Joss to hire Fametrackers and TWoPers to re-haul the finale. I can see it now: fuelled on nothing more than skittles and vanilla coke, we all take out our red pens and write in the part where Buffy stakes Spike and she and Faith start kicking ass and taking names. And Anya and Giles watch from the safety of their flat in London where they�re seeing to their charming little apothecary/book shop! What? Stop looking at me like that.
Dear Boston Red Sox,
I�m going to forgo the niceties and just beg if that�s all right with you. Pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase win. Please? Pretty please with a World Series ring on top? Every year, I root for you. I tell myself that you�re the diamond in the rough. (Get it? Diamond? Because I'm talking about baseball and they play on a...forget it.) Every year, I tell myself that this is the year. More importantly, I tell other people that this is the year. Every year, you disappoint and humiliate me! Well humiliation is for suckers. And I'm turning in my sucker card. This year had better be the year. You get me?
Dear Boston Celtics,
Ditto.
Dear dad,
No, YOU SHUT UP! Okay?
Dear CD collection,
Holy crap! Have you gained weight? How did you get so big? Oh, right, all those years of reviewing shitty CDs. Right. That�s why I have so very many pretentious semi-arty-but-not-really-because I got to the grab meeting late and so was issued "Bill and Bonnie Hearne: Songs for Old People" instead of the Beastie Boys Anthology. Damn. Well, I think we're ripe for a culling. So please arrange yourself in alphabetical order under the assigned genres of Crap and Not Crap. Woah! Not so fast, Kid Rock!
Dear Prime,
Thank you for choosing to air old episodes of the Golden Girls. If you threw a party and invited everyone you knew, you would see that the biggest gift would be from me and the card attached would say �thank you for being an awesome cable channel!�
Dear Gary Dourdan,
Why won�t you love me? We could make beautiful, geeky music together!
Dear Fresca,
Ahhhhhh. Thank you for your refreshingly tart flavour.
Dear White Stripes,
Enough with the red and white. Also, here�s a bass guitar and a tanning bed. Enjoy.
Dear SGI,
Get fucked. My car doesn�t pass your 109 point inspection? Well it was good enough for Manitoba, it should be good enough for Saskatchewan! You think I won�t sell it? Oh, I will! I�ll go back to Manitoba and sell it, and then, I�ll buy an old, crap-ass car in Saskatchewan that is literally falling apart. But because I bought it in Saskatchewan, I won�t have to have it inspected. So even if the second car is shittier than the one I have now, I�ll be able to drive it. Even though it�s less safe and not nearly as road-worthy, I�ll drive it while my perfectly serviceable car sits and rusts in the driveway. I'll beat you yet, you sad, sad wankers.
Dear cat,
I swear to God, if you dig in that plant one more time, I will brain you with a slipper! You think I'll stop at neutering? I bet the vet can find other parts to cut off! Damn you for being so cute!
Dear public library,
You RULE! In the past week you�ve gotten in six different books I�ve ordered in from all around the province! Plus, I rented two videos and I get to keep them for two weeks! And it�s all free! FREEEEE!!!
Dear readers,
Yes, I spelled all those words correctly. I appreciate your concern for my spelling well being, however, I must point out that I am Canadian. We do things a little differently up here. And now that I�ve broached the subject, I�ve gotta ask: What�ve you guys got against U�s?
Dear neighbour,
I understand that you wake up very, very early. I do. I�ve often entertained the notion of waking before noon. This thing you call "morning" intrigues me. However, I understand that morning lasts until way after 5:00 a.m. So those of us who like to slumber past that time would like to know if you could find a way to SHUT THE HELL UP! I mean God, I�m not Noriega! I�m not going to come out with my hands up because you�ve got the Van Halen cranked to 11. So please, for the love of all that is holy, turn down the ass rock! I can�t stand it!
Dear winter sweaters,
Back! Get back! Into the storage boxes with you! Ha-ha! I�ve got you now! I�ve! Got! You! Now! Yes! Victory is mine! I...I...hey! Cable knit! Back in the box there, wooly! It�s the time of the tank-top, I tell you!
Dear Dairy Queen Blizzard commercials,
All right, I get it! They�re thick! So cease and desist with that homely Giovanni Ribisi look-alike doing the cabbage patch while holding two blizzards upside down.
Dear Discounted Easter Candy,
Why, yes. Yes I would like to buy a bag of Cadbury�s mini eggs at half price! What? Buy one get one free? Oh no, I couldn�t! No, really! What? What�s that? Why, yes, I have been working out! Oh, you! You twisted my arm! And three cream eggs for $1.00? Sniff! It�s...it�s like you saw me coming a mile away!
Tunes: Calexico, El Picador
Tube: Not Buffy. I've missed the last two eps and... meh. Whatever. No, instead, I've been watching Survivor and Christy, you are dumb. Rob, you too. In fact, you're all dumb! Every last one of you! It's just that some of you are less physically disgusting than others. What? I never claimed not to be shallow, people!
Pages: House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. I haven't had to put it in the freezer. Yet.
Mood: Impatient. When will my mix tapes get here? Probably when I sent mine out. Hee! Oops. They're coming. I swear!
