n'est pas

Open Letters
Dear drunk buckheady chick behind me at Trader Vics,
Nobody wants to hear you sing "Adieu adieu to you and you and you do do do do do..." at the top of your chirp when exiting the bar.

Dear driver of purple bitchin Mustang that cut me off several times on 400,
I'm sorry your dick is so small. Please let everyone know that your car can, indeed, reach 80 and make manly engine noises.

Dear Silent Pakistani Friend,
My Indian friend and I would like to stage a peace accord at your store as an example to the large scale conflict. And also, no I don't want a newspaper. Not even the back page.

Dear guy that fell at the party about an hour ago,
Thank you for pre-gauging the slipperiness of that area.

Dear Daytona 500,
I have to watch you on Sunday in the name of research. If you could eliminate the middle 300 laps I would be very appreciative. Does Jude Law drive a car by any chance? That would rock. Just a thought. Oh, and I also need you to be exactly like "Top Gun On Wheels."

Dear Elliptical trainer,
I am in pain. I blame you. Suck it.

Dear Peachtree Road,
Remember back when I told the elliptical trainer to suck it? That goes for you, too.

Dear Peace Corps,
Thanks for the $1000. I shall spend it devising a plan to stay as far away from third world countries as possible. Nothing personal, but I think they keep confusing "toilet" with "hole in the ground."

Dear Mary TYler Moore,
Thanks for turning my world on with your smile. And for taking my nothing day and suddenly making it seem worthwhile. I might just make it after all, or at least after this montage. (insert montage here.)

Dear 311,
Please break up as soon as possible, preferably right after composing an apology letter to The Cure and to music in general.

Dear potential press outlets for Coachella,
I bring in the literary noise and sometimes the funk. (though the funk tends to skew haiku) I can watch music and comment on it SIMULTANEOUSLY. Just ask Thurston Moore and the world's strongest panda.

Dear David Bowie,
You still have several hours to send flowers in time for V-day. Seriously, it's been 24 years with nothing. Must I spend another evening weeping softly in a vat of bubbles to "Dancing in the Street?"

Dear Gavin and Diana,
Thanks for setting the dance floor on FIRE. Metaphorically, I mean. Though real fire would have been pretty cool, too. But evil.

Dear members of the academy,
Thank you for this honor. Making this movie was a beautiful journey. Of pharmeceuticals.

Dear Mom,
Thanks for the Valentine's letter. I unfolded the paper only to see "Happy Valentines Day" printed in rainbow across the top. Like a big gay greeting.

Dear FantasmagoRIE!,
What are you? All I can remember about you is that you are pronounced "FantasmagoRIE!"

Yours truly,
dehumidifier



(a funk haiku)
my feet on the floor
and my head on the ground is
how I watch pixies




Hey, who likes gin?

Hey, who likes gin and is also sane?