Unmailed Letters - Volume 2

I'm one of those guys who always thinks 'I should write a letter to the manager' whenever somebody chafes me. In turn, I always make an effort to think 'Wow, what a good waitress. I should write a letter to her boss.' The problem is I never get around to actually following through on it; just like I never get around to repairing the hinge on the door, cleaning the yard or helping with the laundry.

I've decided to do something about it. Don't worry. One would have to do something grievous for me to write a letter of complaint about them. I won't arbitrarily jeopardize somebody's job for mere spite. I'm sure the managers at Wal*Mart get deluged with grammatically deficient scribbles admonishing some minimum-wage soul for getting lippy.

Maybe I should have written that letter to complain about the waitress who, while blaming the kitchen staff for the delay of our food, held a *#%@ing cigarette and her lighter in her hand anticipating a trip off to flavour country. I've always regretted firing that one off - particularly since it's the last time I dined at this establishment.

What follows are a couple of letters that sit unmailed on my messy desk, beneath a coagulated coffee mug and a few back issues of Guns & Ammo.


Dear 'Robust' Ghetto Woman,

I couldn't help but notice you on the stoop of your home this morning as I drove to work. I caught you out of the corner of my eye, but had to do a double-take, since it took my beleaguered mind a second to register that you were only clad in a towel.

Ordinarily, somebody with an overwrought libido such as myself would drool like a Pavlovian mutt at such a sight, but regrettably your physique caused some 'retreating of the troops' to occur. Additionally, any regards I might have had for you as a decent or classy human being have been jettisoned along with my morning wood. I shouldn't need to alert you to the fact that you live on a major east-west artery in our humble burg, and that people like to drink coffee on their way to work. Have you considered that your scantily clad appearance might cause an unsuspecting motorist to spit their mouthful of java all over their suit and dashboard?

I've got a couple suggestions that might accommodate your need for exhibitionism and your lack of decorum:

1) Invest in a bathrobe. They are a rather inexpensive addition to your wardrobe, and I hear they come in the 'plus' size that you might need... which is more than I can say for that ratty green towel you donned. If the gentleman at your door wished to speak with you for any reason -- either to say good-bye or to borrow a cup of sugar -- you could at least have made your appearance a little more dignified and modest with a bathrobe.

2) Invest in a treadmill. You could purchase one second hand at a nominal cost. If you can't afford one, curb the trips to Mickey D's and the donut section of your supermarket. Lose some of that girth, girlfriend! Ordinarily I give the ladies a little leeway when it comes to the lb's, but goddamn! If you manage to drop about a buck-thirty or so, I might find the sight of you in a towel welcoming. It might also elicit a toot of the horn and a hearty 'Yah, bay-beee!' (provided my sons or wife aren't in the car), but until then keep your corpulent and exposed anatomy indoors.

I hope you don't take offence to this, or considering the offence you perpetrated on my cornea I don't care if you do. Your indelible image has tainted my morning (but then again, thank goodness you didn't reach for your morning paper and inadvertently exposed your tain't). The next time I see you, I hope you're at least wearing tacky pyjama bottoms and an airbrushed t-shirt commemorating a dead homie.


Sincerely yours,
Prego


Then, there's this offering:


Dear Colleague,

I realize you've got at least thirty years of professional defecating experience, giving you credit for mastery of the art-form since the age of three. I find it disconcerting, though to have to bring this up, since it is such a delicate topic.

You're riding a little too far back on the saddle cowboy/girl. To clarify things, you are sitting too far back on the toilet and thus leaving a small but visible and disgusting amount of fecal matter on the seat. Now the toilet seat has an opening with a diameter that approximates a foot and a half across and nearly two feet from front to back. That's quite a target, particularly since your immense *ss is set directly atop (with a layer of toilet paper for hygienic purposes).

I know you male colleagues might have a difficult time with these dimensions when voiding, especially with that last trickle. It's evidenced by the dried yellow spots on the front, but feces on the back-end is inexcusable. Even with the size of your aforementioned *ss, your 'orifice' can only produce a 'sausage' with a 1-1/2" to 2" diameter. It's not difficult to ensure you empty your contents directly into the basin, since it's equivalent to the task of squeezing out a tube of toothpaste into a cereal bowl.

In closing, I'd just like to add that if you can't adapt your riding style, at least look behind you and do a spot check... If you repeat the offence, I'm taking your stool sample to the science teacher and see if we can't make a positive identification. She and I will then ensure you keep the seat of every toilet in the building squeaky clean by forcing your face around the perimeter.

Sincerely,
The Throne Ranger


Does anybody have a stamp I might borrow?