Catching Up On Correspondence
Dear Tires Plus:
Hi, it’s me. As I have said before, I admire that you hired a half-deaf midget (little person) to man the front desk of your King of Prussia location. And I don’t even really mind that he addresses me as Cathary and has changed your records to reflect that Cathary is, in fact, my real name. It was rare that my parents even got my name right on the first try, so I respond to just about anything. Just please don’t call me “Late for dinner.” Right? But seriously.
What I do mind, however, is when your midget screams, “Hey Pinky!” into the waiting room to tell me my car is ready, just because I happen to be wearing a pink polo shirt. I prefer Cathary to Pinky, albeit narrowly. Thanks!
Bravely, Z
Dear Dad:
What up, big guy? I understand we have had our disagreements in the past. For example, I prefer the Beatles to the Stones and you prefer me to be celibate while I would rather make out with dudes. We’ve worked through a lot, but there are some things you should know. I don’t agree with you that sterilization is a viable option for ending poverty in Africa, despite your claims otherwise. I never intend to be contrarian, at least not purposefully, but I must dissent from your assessment that the only way to end the war on terror is to drag terrorists’ families into the street and kill them publicly. It’s just messy!
Have you been talking to the guys from tires plus? They call me Pinky, and you call me Pinko. Quelle coincidence!
Also, my hair’s not too long. Thumb rings in and of themselves are not “faggy.” And I don’t go out drinking every night.
Fruit of your loins, Z
Dear Security Guards at the CJC:
Hey fellas. I am hyper-aware that terror is on everyone’s minds these days. How could it not be at the forefront of the mind of every responsible, patriotic American citizen? That’s why I think it was perfectly reasonable to stop me the other morning and ask for 2 forms of identification. A less wary guard would have thought that my building ID would have sufficed. But you, my friends, would put that guard to shame! I also understand that despite the fact that my bag looked fine through the x-ray machine, it was still necessary to go through it and pull out each magazine I was reading and to examine exactly which Tastykake I would ingest as a midday snack. I don’t even mind that you let some of your friends through security without being checked out! Fair’s fair, and it’s all about who you know. Or whom. But let’s not quibble.
I am writing to apologize for looking like I was scowling or pouting throughout the whole ordeal. It may have seemed to you that I was ungrateful toward your efforts to minimize the threat of terrorism in our building. I was actually grimacing because I was thinking about those pussies who contend that privacy rights appear anywhere within the rigid, lifeless parameters of the Constitution. I bet you guys think the same thing on one of the 20 smoke breaks you take every day.
God Bless You and God Bless America, Z
Dear PECO Energy:
Thanks for your help yesterday in my hour of need. You see, I had a power outage yesterday, and I thought it might have been a black out. Were it not for your disconnecting me from your telephone line 5 times, I might not have had the courage to threaten to come to your headquarters and kill the woman who was in charge of connecting me to Emergency Services. I can have such a temper, my bad! In that case, I would have never found out that it was a problem specific to my building and I never would have called maintenance to fix the problem. And then I wouldn’t have had power all night long! My beauty sleep would be disrupted. And so on and so forth.
You see where this is going, right? You helped me come out of my shell. I am empowered, and I haven’t felt this way since watching a Mary Tyler Moore Show marathon on TV Land. (You go, Mary!)
Talk to you very soon, Z
Dear Girl in my Monday Night Gym Class (Front Row, Right):
Stop yelling back everything the instructor says in class. It’s not cute and it’s not motivational. It’s annoying. We are there to focus every once of our attention on the hot instructor, and your yelping takes away from that.
Ok, maybe some people are there for a good work out, but still…shut up!
Nice sneakers though, Z
Dear 7 Foot Tall Transvestite, Possibly Transexual, Hooker Standing at the Corner of 12th and Spruce Last Night:
No.
Keep on keepin’ on, Z
Hi, it’s me. As I have said before, I admire that you hired a half-deaf midget (little person) to man the front desk of your King of Prussia location. And I don’t even really mind that he addresses me as Cathary and has changed your records to reflect that Cathary is, in fact, my real name. It was rare that my parents even got my name right on the first try, so I respond to just about anything. Just please don’t call me “Late for dinner.” Right? But seriously.
What I do mind, however, is when your midget screams, “Hey Pinky!” into the waiting room to tell me my car is ready, just because I happen to be wearing a pink polo shirt. I prefer Cathary to Pinky, albeit narrowly. Thanks!
Bravely, Z
Dear Dad:
What up, big guy? I understand we have had our disagreements in the past. For example, I prefer the Beatles to the Stones and you prefer me to be celibate while I would rather make out with dudes. We’ve worked through a lot, but there are some things you should know. I don’t agree with you that sterilization is a viable option for ending poverty in Africa, despite your claims otherwise. I never intend to be contrarian, at least not purposefully, but I must dissent from your assessment that the only way to end the war on terror is to drag terrorists’ families into the street and kill them publicly. It’s just messy!
Have you been talking to the guys from tires plus? They call me Pinky, and you call me Pinko. Quelle coincidence!
Also, my hair’s not too long. Thumb rings in and of themselves are not “faggy.” And I don’t go out drinking every night.
Fruit of your loins, Z
Dear Security Guards at the CJC:
Hey fellas. I am hyper-aware that terror is on everyone’s minds these days. How could it not be at the forefront of the mind of every responsible, patriotic American citizen? That’s why I think it was perfectly reasonable to stop me the other morning and ask for 2 forms of identification. A less wary guard would have thought that my building ID would have sufficed. But you, my friends, would put that guard to shame! I also understand that despite the fact that my bag looked fine through the x-ray machine, it was still necessary to go through it and pull out each magazine I was reading and to examine exactly which Tastykake I would ingest as a midday snack. I don’t even mind that you let some of your friends through security without being checked out! Fair’s fair, and it’s all about who you know. Or whom. But let’s not quibble.
I am writing to apologize for looking like I was scowling or pouting throughout the whole ordeal. It may have seemed to you that I was ungrateful toward your efforts to minimize the threat of terrorism in our building. I was actually grimacing because I was thinking about those pussies who contend that privacy rights appear anywhere within the rigid, lifeless parameters of the Constitution. I bet you guys think the same thing on one of the 20 smoke breaks you take every day.
God Bless You and God Bless America, Z
Dear PECO Energy:
Thanks for your help yesterday in my hour of need. You see, I had a power outage yesterday, and I thought it might have been a black out. Were it not for your disconnecting me from your telephone line 5 times, I might not have had the courage to threaten to come to your headquarters and kill the woman who was in charge of connecting me to Emergency Services. I can have such a temper, my bad! In that case, I would have never found out that it was a problem specific to my building and I never would have called maintenance to fix the problem. And then I wouldn’t have had power all night long! My beauty sleep would be disrupted. And so on and so forth.
You see where this is going, right? You helped me come out of my shell. I am empowered, and I haven’t felt this way since watching a Mary Tyler Moore Show marathon on TV Land. (You go, Mary!)
Talk to you very soon, Z
Dear Girl in my Monday Night Gym Class (Front Row, Right):
Stop yelling back everything the instructor says in class. It’s not cute and it’s not motivational. It’s annoying. We are there to focus every once of our attention on the hot instructor, and your yelping takes away from that.
Ok, maybe some people are there for a good work out, but still…shut up!
Nice sneakers though, Z
Dear 7 Foot Tall Transvestite, Possibly Transexual, Hooker Standing at the Corner of 12th and Spruce Last Night:
No.
Keep on keepin’ on, Z
posted by ZRW @ 2:08 PM
1 Comments:
At 12:41 PM,
Anonymous said…
You're wrong about thumb rings, there, champ.
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