Letters To People
At least one of these guys is getting a letter from me.
In the course of my day-to-day life, I encounter people in passing who I either don’t get to talk to or don’t get to talk to for long enough to sufficiently express my true feelings. Seeing as it’s summer and I have the time, I’d like to send a few letters to these folks, just so they know what I was really thinking when our paths crossed.
To The High Schoolers Who Walked Past The House Across The Street And Tossed All That Shredded Up Paper On The Lawn
Pick that up! Go on! Turn around and pick it up! We don’t just fling garbage into the street around here – this is Oregon, not California. I don’t know about you, but when I was growing up I had it hammered into my head that Littering was like the ninth deadly sin (after Writing In Library Books), and ever since I’ve been very steadfast about disposing of my trash in an environmentally responsible way, even when it meant hauling the same damn Styrofoam cup across God knows how many New York City blocks – and this was back when Al Gore was just an unsuccessful presidential candidate, not a professional Guy Who Uses PowerPoint. I can’t imagine you missed out on this indoctrination of eco-friendly living, so I can only assume that throwing your shredded up homework on my neighbor’s lawn was some form of teenaged rebellion. Well, congratulations, Skyler, you have successfully raged against the machine by dropping your shit on the ground without breaking stride. Anarchy indeed, son.
To Whoever Owns That New Black T-Bird Down The Street
I’m going to be honest, sir or madam – every time I walk past your car, I really want to steal it. I’m a very law abiding person – remember, I don’t even litter – but when I see your curvaceous, obsidian speed demon, dark hands from within press me toward malfeasance. I’m not the guy who reads Road and Track magazine and can tell the model year on a Corvette just by smelling it or knows what a V8 engine is; my dream car is electric, and it has Tina Fey in the passenger’s seat, and a box DVD set of the second season of Firefly in the glovebox. However, I’ve always had a deep love for the new T-Birds ever since they came out a few years ago, and yours, your Black Beauty, as I’ve come to call her, has captured my heart. It’s a sort of forbidden love, because I know that as a sports car it probably has laughable fuel economy, and as a former lot boy I’m well aware of how tough it is to keep a black car clean, but maybe it’s how blatantly unwise a purchase your car is that draws my miserly self toward it so. Of course, I never would actually steal your car, for to break one of her windows or hotwire her would be a horrific violation of her beauty. Also, that all leather interior is bound to be hot as the dickens in this heatwave we’ve been having.
To The Party That Came Into Carl’s And Ordered 2 Large Root Beer Shakes With Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups And A Banana Shake With Strawberry During The Busiest Part Of The Night
What the HELL, people!? Really? Is that what we’re doing now – humans, I mean; are human beings ordering large cups of diary fat mixed with syrup and crushed up candy bars!? That’s a thing we do now? Okay, no offense, but I hope your teeth rot and fall out and you choke on them in your sleep and die, because we were already mad busy with the sort of milkshakes that ordinary people who don’t want to get diabetes order, and then you guys show up with your fancy pants demands for candy in your root beer. Do you know how hard that is? We keep the Reese’s in the fridge – for you, consumer, for you! – and when they go in the blender with the ice cream it’s like trying to use a lawnmower to turn gravel into hummus. And it was my fourth day! Oh, and don’t think I forgot about you, Mr. Banana And Strawberry Shake! Let me ask you a question: Did you see a sign outside that said Jamba Juice? No? You know why? Because mixed-berry smoothies are not Carl’s modus operandi! If you want two different kinds of fruit flavors all squished together in a cup, you should just hop on your recumbent bike, crank up the Coldplay on your iPod, and take a nice long trip over Northwest Portland, where I promise you there are plenty of places that will serve you that sort of thing in a much healthier fashion! But for God’s sake, don’t make me chop up a banana, stick it in a cup, blend the banana all by itself, then add ice cream, then add strawberry on top, and then blend the whole thing! I mean, come on! That won’t even taste good!
To Angelina Jolie
Hey there Angie, it’s Truman again. So I was watching the news tonight and it turns out you’re pregnant with twins! Congratulations on that. But, and I’m sorry if this isn’t any of my business, don’t you already have literally hundreds of adopted children? I mean, sure, I can see adopting a child if it turns out you can’t have children of your own – I sort of figured that this was the case all these years that you were actually adopting impoverished Asian children before they had been conceived, but now I find out that your lady parts (and what lady parts they must be, if they’re in any way like the rest of you) are working just fine, well enough that you appear to be growing a set of twins sired by none other than Brad Pitt. Sure, you’ve got the financial means to take care of the impressive number of children you’re plucking out of the third world or producing the old fashioned way, but at the rate you’re going I’m afraid you’ve crossed the line from child rearing into nation building. All I’m saying is, it’s going to be really embarrassing if we have to annex Nova Scotia to store your lineage.
To The Really Cute Girl With Glasses In Bella Fresca The Other Night
Maybe you noticed that I refilled your water a lot, even when you clearly didn’t need it refilled. Was that creepy? I’m sorry if it was. I don’t know what I’d thought would happen – maybe that, as I stood at the back of the restaurant, you’d pause beside me on your way to the bathroom and whisper in my ear, “You’ve been doing a really great job refilling my water, and that guy I’m with isn’t my boyfriend, and even though I’m 21 and you look to be about 19, I’d really just love to go get dinner with you sometime.” And I’d say, “Sure, I could work that into my schedule.”, and then a couple days later we’d go get dinner at some colorful locally owned restaurant, and then we’d have a second date at a theater pub or something and watch some independent movie, and then for our third date you’d take me to the three bedroom apartment you share with your friends, one of whom has a tattoo or a nose piercing and the other of whom is from Mexico or the Netherlands or some other country, and we’d have dinner there and swap embarrassing secrets about one another, and when it came to be my turn I’d say, “Well, sometimes I play Dungeons and Dragons.”, and then I’d grit my teeth and wait for you to be shocked and kick me out, but instead you’d take me by the hand and lead me into your bedroom, where you’d open a drawer in the bedside table to reveal your Dungeon Master’s Guide and dice, and then we’d proceed to roll character sheets or have sex, either of which is fine with me. So, yeah, that’s sort of what I hoped would happen. Sorry if that’s creepy.
Truman Capps will be sincerely embarrassed if any of these messages reach their intended targets – that being said, Glasses Girl, we really should hang out sometime.