Open Letters To People Who Will Most Likely Never …

Open Letters To People Who Will Most Likely Never Read Them,

To The Person In My Office Who Sprayed Something,

I’m not sure what you sprayed, it smells as though it might be a type of hairspray, or maybe some type of cologne / perfume. Either way whatever it is a horrendous smell. So overbearing that I felt as though I would collapse from lack of oxygen. Have you absolutely no clue that there are over 100 human beings some 250 feet up in the sky trapped within windows that do not open, and that the air we breathe is constantly recycled within itself? Your stupidity does not astonish me considering the company we work for is full of complete morons. If I find out which idiot you are you might want to plead stupidity by reason of working in a fiduciary capacity.

Regards,
A Burned Inner-Nostral Having Beehive

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To The Manager / Employee That was Conversing In The Men’s Room,

I don’t exactly know what you two were talking about, other than it had to do with work related items. Mr. Manager was at a urinal, while Mr. Employee was in the third stall. Why the two of you continued your conversation through numerous gas sounds, and all out butt explosions is beyond belief. Have either of you heard of a meeting behind closed doors to discuss business? Or perhaps somewhere else in the building, a place is not a bathroom that is currently being used by both of the people who are talking about their new strategy.

The fact that the both of you seemed indifferent to the sounds of loud gas, and the noisy dropping a multiple deuces leads me to believe that this was not the first work meeting that you have both held at that darkened smelly locale.

You both disgust me!

Only due to your lacking of self-respect for not allowing peace of mind while extricating liquids, and what sounded like semi solids out of your bodies.

Regards,
The Man Who Knows What You Two Did

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To The Guy In The Elevator This Morning,

You were blasting Better Midler’s “Hero” at 8:45AM from your Ipod. You are a NRI of my company –Non Resident Indian that works at my company. You appeared to still be a few years away from old enough to be actually listening to Bette Midler for the enjoyment of Bette Midler’s music. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a sucker for lite music every now and then, and Bette Midler can rock the lite stuff very well. In fact she might even be up with the best of LITE FM, however, you sir downloaded her song somehow to your Ipod. This is an inexcusable act. People are starving all over the world, you could have helped one of Sally Struthers kids with two days worth of food, instead you spent that money on “Hero”. “Hero!”

If I ever see you again riding in my elevator early in the morning with any Bette Midler song blasting for all to hear within a 20 foot radius I’m going to make sure you get the point that you should, fly flly fllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyy away back to India. America is the land of the free, where dreams came come true, not the land where every individual has the right to oppress all within earshot with Bette Midler’s music.

Regards,
The Guy Who Exited The Elevator Bleeding From My Ears.

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To People Who Say, “You Know, The Simpson’s Is Really Brilliantly Written, It’s So Smart”,

Folks, this show has been on the air for nearly 20 years. Each time you say this remark, it only allows the person that you said it told to realize and remember that you must have been living under a rock for the last 20 years. Save yourselves the embarrassment of doing this, and just talk about how you haven’t watched TV since M*A*S*H went off the air. Also, I’ll be holding my breath for about 10 or so more years for you to finally wise up and watch an episode or two of South Park. Godspeed.

Regards,
A Critic Of Others “Witty” Comments

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To The Black Cowboy Of 34th Street,

About once a week or so I spot you getting on the Uptown D train at 34th Street. You are a very muscular man, with long straightened hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing dark sunglasses, tight starched jeans, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. Where are you coming from always? I like to assume that you are always coming home from an acting gig that ran way too late, through the night and into the morning. I know that I am most likely being naïve in this regard, and it’s all due to the fact that I don’t want to believe that you are still living in your great wardrobe of the 1980s. My neighbor down the block still does too, and that is mainly caused from the fact that he is an alcoholic that lives in his fathers basement cause he can’t hold down any type of steady job. You on the other hand appear to have a good job, one that people look up to and respect, whatever that might be, and since we are on the aisle of Manhattan, that well respected job could not be possibly be a cowboy. Furthermore, if you want to get all dressed up and play cowboy, I suggest you keep this as a weekend look only. This might come as a shock to you, and I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but I bet that everyone you know says things like this behind your back, “What’s up with Jim always dressing like a cowboy?” and “Does he really think that him looking like a cowboy is a good look?”

Yours Truly,
The Messenger Who Realizes You Are Not A Real Cowboy

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To The Woman That I Woofed At Under My Breath This Morning,

I know that it was impossible for you to have heard me with all the many people walking in the concourse, plus you were on the way far side away from my walking line, yet I was able to see you from as far as the eye could see, due to the overabundance of makeup that was globbed on your face. While there was no denying that your face appeared as though it lacked good basic structure to have what most Americans would classify as anything close to a good looking face, all that make up just compounded the ugliness of your genetically horrific looking face. You had so much makeup on that I do not think it was possible for you to have done that all this morning, the only way you could have had that much makeup on would be if you had gone to each and every makeup store in the city and asked for “a free makeover”. Sure I know plenty of women go into Bloomingdale’s and get the makeover, however, they don’t then walk out and run to three dozen other hot spot locales to get even more makeup caked on their faces. I can only imagine the looks of horror each makeup consultant must have had each time you walked in to their department demanding that you be made beautiful, for which that is an impossibility. You have a lost case – case closed. In the future if you have even a quarter the amount of makeup that a children’s birthday clown wears on their face, that means you have too much, this morning you had at least 18 times that amount, it must have been nine pounds worth. Remember this one that I learned growing up watching Full House, it was advice given to DJ by Becky in regards to application of makeup, “Less is more.”

Regards,
Someone Who Wonders How You Live With Yourself

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To The Woman Who Announced The Plane Crash Yesterday Afternoon,

When one of your coworkers saw that there were numerous coworkers running around the floor in a panic, they asked two questions, “Is everything alright? Did something happen?” Your response was “A plane crashed into the building.” To which both myself and two other people screamed out, “What?!?” To which you replied, “It crashed into the building on the Upper East Side.” That was quite wrong of you, and so very stupid of you. The building would classify it as being the building in which we are all currently sitting and standing in. The building on the Upper East Side is irrelevant, you should have said a building on the Upper East Side. Let me take this opportunity to let you know that there is more than one building over there, and that we are not in any of those buildings. So, in the event of another plane crashing into a building ever again, do not state that a plane crashed into the building, unless it is in fact the building that you are current an occupant of. This will save hearts from jumping out of their chests.

Very Yours Truly,
An Occupant Of The Building