A Quick Note To Every Goddamn Person I Came In Contact With Yesterday

Mike, my husband: You know, there’s nothing cute or amusing about a man in his mid-40s standing in the kitchen, bending at the knees and pointing his fingers in the air like a gay retard, while forcing intestinal gas into the room. Not one thing. Especially while I’m trying to eat my Cream of Wheat.

Also, sniffing the air after yet another of your revolting eruptions, and saying, “Did somebody just open a can of peaches?” is starting to get a little old. Five times a day for seventeen years is excessive, I believe.

And those toenails? I’ve never seen anything more disgusting. I’m fairly certain you’re supposed to trim them before they start growing toward the light.

The woman at Hardee’s: “Hep you?” is not a proper greeting. In fact, “Hep” isn’t even a word. And what’s with all the attitude? I’m just getting a coffee, for godsake. I can’t be held responsible for your poor decision-making skills, or the delay in your “settlement.”

Gene, the parking garage attendant at my job: You seem like a nice man, but I have no idea what you’re talking about most of the time. For instance, who the fuck is Bonnie, and why do you think I’m at all concerned about her hand surgery?

The security guard in the lobby at my job: My tits thank you for your daily Good Morning! greeting. They appreciate it — especially the left one. The left one is a little insecure, and really eats-up that kind of stuff.

Jan, the department secretary at my job: Nobody is buying the “I’m so incredibly busy” act. We all know your cubicle is a pig sty simply because you’re a lazy slob.

I mean, look at your car! There’s only enough room in that piece of shit for your ass. Admittedly that’s a lot of space, but still… Since we’re on the subject, I’ve been meaning to ask: why is there a rotisserie chicken and a can of Right Guard on the dashboard?

And your voice. Dear God, your voice! It carves a hole straight through my central nervous system. Have you ever considered shutting the hell up for a few minutes, just as an experiment?

Jerry, with whom I share an office: Is it really necessary to talk to your wife every thirty minutes throughout the day? Have you ever noticed how she never calls you? I have.

And that thing you do where you twist your whole torso around, and crack your back? I hate that; it makes me almost physically ill. One of these days you’re going to blow something out, and end up in a wheelchair typing emails with your forehead-mounted typing-wand.

Plus, those “health shakes” you drink all day smell like unwashed balls.

Brenda, who believes we’re office buddies: I know this might come as a shock, but the entire universe doesn’t revolve around your bony, tan-in-a-can ass. You think everybody’s out to get you, but in reality, nobody gives you a second thought. Because you’re forgettable.

Also, it’s “picture,” not “pitcher.” Wow!

Phil, my boss: You’re a good guy, and very smart, and everything. I just wish I’d never seen that “No Spin Zone” sticker on your Taurus. I was this close to respecting you.

It’s too bad, really. Because everything you say and do now, regardless of its brilliance, is tinged in douche; at this point you carry a very distinct douchey patina.

Mike, my husband, again: If you don’t like the way I cook the pork chops, here’s an idea: do it yourself. Why not get up off your ever-expanding hams every once in a while, and contribute something? Besides, of course, your “comedy.”

I’d never kill you in your sleep, understand, but that doesn’t mean the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

David Letterman: What’s happened to you? You used to be the funniest man alive, and now you’re about as amusing as… oh, I don’t know… pancreatic cancer?

A little unsolicited feedback: exaggerated coughing and throat-clearing is not entertainment. So knock it off, please. And your political analysis? Embarrassing. You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about; you’re like some ranting old man at a diner now. The only thing missing is a slice of blueberry pie, and a Sea World hat.

And I think that brings us up to date. Thanks for your time, folks!

Your pal, Leslie