Flibbertigibbet

Just to Be Safe an Open Letter to Baby Cthulu

Dear Baby Cthulu:

Please don't let me cough really hard and shit my pants at work today.

Smooches!
Flibby

An Open Letter to Baby Jesus

Dear Baby Jesus:

Please don't let me cough really hard and shit my pants at work today.

Smooches!
Flibby

An Open Letter to AirTran

Dear AirTran

You need more air in your airplanes. I don't know why, but every time I fly AirTran, I get a little dizzy and light-headed as if there isn't enough air for me to breathe. It feels the same as if I were at a very high altitude without the benefit of being in an airplane.

I do not have this problem on other airlines, so I know the technology exists for you to do something about this problem.

Thank you

Flibby

An Open Letter to Miss Manners

Dear Miss Manners

What is a person to do when one enters a store and the shopkeep has a bit of toilet paper stuck to his eyelid?

I wanted to say, "Hey there, fella! You have a bit of paper on your eyelid!" But then I thought that it might be there for a reason and after I thought about it for a while and decided that it was an accident it was too late to say something because if I did he'd be like, "Has that been there the whole time? You just NOW tell me?"

And what accident results in toilet paper stuck to one's eyelid?

I know, just last night I had peanut butter really close to my eye, but I'm sure there's a perfectly innocuous, not embarrassing reason for that.

Anyway, I didn't say anything but it was only just then that I realized I wasn't mentally prepared for that sort of situation.

So, what's a person to do?

An Open Letter to Volkswagon

Dear Volkswagon

I used to own a Passat. I bought it for many reasons including the many safety features.

Your new commercials make me never want to get into a car ever again.

These are the commercials with fun, happy people having a conversation in a car and then they slam into another vehicle.

They scare the bejesus out of me. I've seen two of them about a thousand times each and I always get caught up in the conversation and then I'm suddenly throwing up in shock.

Please make it stop.

Thank you

Flibby

An Open Letter to the Cutest Boy in My Class

Dear Cutest Boy in Class

You are so adorable with your pretty blue eyes and sandy hair. I could just pinch you! But we have a problem, pretty sir. You need to pay attention.

During the first class lecture our professor clearly stated that we were to turn in our papers at next class and bring a photo. He also instructed us to read the syllabus two or three times. Given that this is a symbolic logic class, you should readily recognize the conjunctive and disjunctive operators in the above instructions.

I read the syllabus twice and it clearly states on page two that we were to turn in our papers at some point during class and we were to also turn in a recent photo. The syllabus also gave some suggestions by which you might quickly and inexpensively get a photo made. We had no less than four days to get this done.

Personally, I just printed a photo out from my computer.

You, however, came into class without your paper and without a photo. When teacher asked you for your paper you said, "I emailed it to you. Is that ok?"

What did you expect prof to say? Seriously. It's a logic class. And then I found out that it's an HONORS symbolic logic class. You kids are supposed to be high achievers.

Frankly, I'm disappointed in you, cutiepie. I'm going to have to withhold the pinching and smooching until you straighten up.

You might think I'm being overly harsh, but it's for your own good. You'll thank me later.

Yours truly
Flibby

An Open Letter to the Guy Behind Me in the Grocery Store Line

Dear Sir,

I hope that this letter finds you drowning in your own vomit on the floor of a really cheap brothel. I say that because I'm in a particularly foul mood and you really got on my nerves yesterday.

I guess I owe you an explanation and a reminder of who I am. I'm the youngish, blond guy who was in the check out line in front of you yesterday. Not ringing any bells? Well, I was the one with crutches in the cart and a shirt drenched in sweat.

I was drenched in sweat because aside from using the cart as support while one hops around the store on one foot, there is no good way to shop at the Food Lion when you're on crutches.

You may also remember me as the guy who touched your food.

When I was unloading my cart and you put your stuff on the conveyor belt so that it mixed your stuff up with my stuff, it really bothered me, that's why I touched your food. No, it didn't help for you to slam down the little plastic separator. Fortunately, the nice cashier saw your lack of courtesy and turned the belt off.

Then, when I realized that you were about to attempt to have anal sex with me and I shot you a stern look that said, "Not without dinner and not in front of the World Weekly News" and you refused to move out of my personal space, I was thoroughly pissed.

That's right. I am hopping on one foot, sweating, and unloading my groceries and here you come to invade my personal space and put your things in my way. Perhaps you can't understand why. I certainly don't care if you understand. I just want you to die in a pool of your own vomit in a whorehouse. Is that too much to ask given your recent display of your lack of courtesy?

So, the best I can wish you is that the newspaper will find some creative way to write the headline of your obituary so as to hide your indiscretion. I'm thinking something like, "No Sheep Who Weren't Dressed Like They Wanted It Were Harmed in the Making of this Corpse." You know, something subtle and in good taste.

I hate you with the blazing white-hot passion of ten thousand suns right now.

Sincerely
Flibby

An Open Letter to Harry Potter

Dear Harry Potter:

I have recently finished reading the biography of your 5th year at Hogwarts, the boarding school for magical children in the UK. I am pleased that you have once over survived rather harrowing adventures with your body and most of your mind intact.

A shame about Snuffles, though. You have my condolences.

I am quite excited about the fourth cinematic installation of your adventures coming out later this year, but I cannot in good conscience go on observing your adventures in silence. I am writing to you now because since year four, I have noticed that you've developed some troubling habits. You yell at people. You do not listen. You make snarky remarks to people who do not deserve them.

You deserve a good thrashing -- and I hope Ron gives it to you even if he doesn't know how to fight like a muggle -- for your behavior toward your friends, but I will settle for the following advice:

1) Sit down and shut up.

2) Professor Snape is a frail, small human being, but someone from whom you could profit if you would just heed item one above.

3) Listen to Hermione, Dumbledore, McGonnagal, Lupin, and Mrs. Weasley. (All in proper amounts, of course.)

4) Be honest. Don't just sit there having premonitions but telling no one. You really are a fool for that.

Thank you for your time. Carry on.

Sincerely
Flibbertigibbet

Overheard at Work

Calendar Girl: I'd like to schedule you to present at this seminar on February 24th and 25th.

Flibby: Ug. Those aren't really good dates. I will be out of town for the entire week before that and I have to update the presentation materials. I don't think that will get done in time for the siminar.

Calendar Girl: Well, the client is coming for another training course at the same time and they're sending some people to your seminar as well. They won't come if they can't come to all of them at the same time.

Flibby: Fine. Schedule it for those dates then.

Calendar Girl: Are you sure? Will you be ready for it by that time?

Flibby: No, I just told you I wouldn't be. But if they won't come if they can't go to both, then I will have to put something together for them. It just won't be what I want it to be.

Calendar Girl: What about March 9th and 10th?

Flibby: Perfect.

Calendar Girl: Ok! I'll just tell them that February is out and March is the date.

Flibby: You're a pro.

I hate having to repeat myself.

An Open Letter to Food Lion

Dear Food Lion

Today, I had the pleasure of shopping at your Jefferson, GA location. Here, by 'pleasure' I mean 'sphincter spasming experience.'

While I do applaud the business saavy behind the decision to hire cashiers and baggers exclusively from the juvenile detention center, I would like to suggest that they get more training. I totally saw that one girl put my produce in with my ground beef.

You will never manage to kill me if I see you trying.

I will admit, though, that the wench was very good at playing dumb; she acted as if nothing was amiss when I pointed out that she had mixed my veggies and raw meat.

Oh but I did see the spark of recognition when I pointed out to her that I was well aware of the debilitating effects of Escherichia coli O157:H7. I saw fear in her eyes -- she knew she had been caught -- when I painted a graphic picture of the diarrhea and cramping E. Coli causes.

We were both clearly aware of the 61 annual deaths from E. coli and we shared a hearty laugh. But I will have the last laugh yet, Food Lion. Not only will I thoroughly cook my hamburger, but I will ALSO wash my vegetables.

FOOLS, you will have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch me in such a heavy-handed plot. We'll see what you can come up with next week.

A Loyal Customer and Best Friends Forever
Flibby

Open Letter to the Homosexual Man from the Restroom at the Regal 24 in Atlanta

Dear, Homosexual Man from the Restroom at the Regal 24 in Atlanta:

I hope that this letter finds you well. I am doing very well myself. I am writing in regard to our meeting last night at the movie theater.

I remember you because you look like Felix La PuBelle. You’re also about 5’4” tall, while I am 6'2". I can actually see the very top of your head without really trying.

You will recall that you stared at me before we entered the restroom. You stared at me while we stood at the urinal. And you stared at me in the mirror while we washed our hands. I believe that the image of me is etched into your mind now forever. My own mother hasn’t even looked at me that hard -- even after the time I got her car stuck in the mud on the tank trails and "borrowed" someone’s tractor to pull it out.

I don’t consider myself an expert on etiquette by any stretch but I think staring is generally considered impolite. I also believe that staring in the restroom is at least doubly taboo.

I am very glad that you opted against getting up on your tippy-toes to look over the partition because I would not have enjoyed the conversation that followed that sort of incident.

You may have noticed that I am not George Michael and neither were any of the other 10 men in the room with us. Of course, I can’t guarantee that all of them would have been as put off by your ocular fixation problem as I was.

I don’t know if I would call ours a “meeting” since I acknowledged your presence for a total of 1.35 seconds only to emphasize my lack of interest. I did want to write this follow-up, though, to you to let you know that 1) the bathroom is not the place to get dates with me and 2) staring is not the way to let me know you’re interested.

I realize that there are not many times or places that present occasion for you or anyone to strike up a romance with me. I also realize that I am quite stand-offish and even under the appropriate circumstances you would find it difficult to approach me. However, I really think you can do better than staring at folks at the toilet.

Just thought you should know.

Flibby

An Open Letter to DJ Get Gorgeous, AKA Anna

Dear DJ Get Gorgeous, AKA Anna:

I completely understand your love for me. I am smart and pretty and funny and successful. I also humor you during our little spats, which takes no small amount of patience.

But I think all observers of our conversations starting realize what a lovely lady you are yourself. If they do not, I would like to let them know.

What other kind of woman can simultaneously string together expletives like so much gas from jalapeno sausage and still convince the audience that she is self-medicated to a point of functional illiteracy? I’ll tell you what kind: A lady of mystery and intrigue.

You’re like an onion, but in a good way. Onions make people cry as if they are sad, but when your sagacious wit draws tears, they are obviously tears of hysterical laughter. You do bring conversation to a point of absurdity that can but amuse.

Onions also have many layers. The simile is trite, I know, but it is true. I could make another one for you about things that have many layers, like the many segments of a tapeworm or the musty, decomposing layers of a compost pile, but I think ‘onion’ is far more direct and romantic.

So, you are like an onion also in that you have many layers. I have recently peeled back another layer: your remarkable business acumen. Since I am very greedy (another of my finer points) I appreciate this in you.

My readers may not realize it, but you continue to visit my site and leave comments so that everyone else will see you and go to see what that one radio station is all about. You know the radio station to which I refer. This strategy of yours shows that you are very far-sighted.

“Most Likely to Think Ahead” That’s what they will probably say of you when you get to high school.

I almost didn’t see through your strategy myself! I thought, “Surely she realizes that this is only driving up my traffic and giving me more comments and attracting people to see our sexual tension draw tighter and tighter. By now my readers must be in a frenzy to see our relationship consummated!”

I must say, I first blushed when I considered how forward and public you are with your affections. How did you put it once? Something about picking up trash on Thursday nights? Perhaps you were talking about community service – which only highlights your generosity.

When I realized how clever you are to use my site to drive traffic to a radio station, I was in awe. I am sure that my readers have flocked – nay! SWARMED – to the radio by the ones and maybe even twos. They’re going in hopes of hearing you and that one guy whose name escapes me at the moment.

Lover, you are truly a worthy presence on my site. Allow me to shower you now in cyber-smooches. SMOOCH! SMOOCH! SMOOCH!

Please write back soon!

XOXOX
Flibby

PS If you aren't a lady, I guess that's ok, one can't raise the bar too high, I suppose.

Open Letter to My Readers

Dear Readers:

I'm sorry. It's also probably worse than you think.

I need to go pick up some drop cloths now.

Later!
Flibby

Open Letter to My Website

Dear My Website:

Dirrty.

Be over in five.

Love ya! Mean it!
Your daddy

Open Letter to Flibbertigibbet

Dear Flibbertigibbet:

Ai, Papichulo!

Hugz
Your website

PS You know where I stay. Bring some whipped cream. I got the jumper cables cuz I been a naughty girl.

Open Letter to My Website

Dear My Website:

Who's your daddy? Say it!

XOXOX
Flibby

PS Stop screening your calls!

Open Letter to Flibbertigibbet

Dear Flibbertigibbet

All your base are belong to us.

Neener Neener Nanoo Nanoo

BFF
Your website

PS Call me!

Open Letter to my Website

Dear My Website:

STOP IT! I see what you're doing and I don't like it one bit. Stop it right now! I command you!

Smooches
Flibby