Your words are not fair. You let my opponent Daniel Carlton play the word QIS… which I firmly believe is not a word and which I can only imagine to be an acronym for some kind of information processing firm full of other intelligent people who would also agree with the fact that QIS is not a word. Meanwhile, SLIMJIM is not a word?? Do you know how many times a day I use that word to describe random people who look like SLIMJIMS? Do you know how often I used to eat that product before I resolved to stop eating foods that taste like shit? Several is the answer to both of those questions.
I would like a letter of apologizing sent to my address and a letter of you-didn’t-actually-win-that-last-game sent to Daniel Carlton, who simply cannot win the game of Scrabble on a fictional word. I would also like a fresh Scrabble board sent to my house with a revised dictionary including spaces in it for me to add more words that I must assume you have excluded. Please go ahead and print SLIMJIM in the revised version so I don’t have to waste time writing it in.
I would also like to take a moment to say that I spent no time actually looking up the word QIS because I feel so strongly that it doesn’t exist. So in the remote event that the entire English language has gone to hell with the Board of Official Word-Adders sarcastically including QIS somewhere between adding BLING-BLING and MUFFIN TOP, well in that extremely unlikely case I do apologize to all the fine people at Scrabble.
I’ve been thinking a lot about people I’ve hurt during my lifetime… the kids I ignored at lunch and recess, the teachers I tormented with questions, the sixth graders who got their first deodorant sticks in health class and then got on the bus only to have me confiscate them and throw them out the window.
So yeah, there’s a lot of regrets in my life. I thought it was fair to write you and say that you weren’t one of those regrets.
I never owned you and I never played with you because you have always been a lame imitator of something awesome. My iPod has been my best friend and he has gotten cooler with each generation, but you… you are just a poser — a kid who carries a skateboard he can’t ride, a guy who buys Abercrombie and Fitch shorts at Goodwill, a criminal with a henna tattoo of a tear. You fill shelf space at Best Buy that could go to something less shitty than you, like an old school Sony Walkman (OOOOOHHHH!! I WENT THERE, BITCH!).
You’re like the kid who sees someone with a sticker that says DMB, and you’re like, “hey what’s that mean?” and the guy is like “Dave Matthews Band, moron. Stop talking to me.” And then you go online to look it up and find a concert that’s only an eight hour drive away so you buy a ticket and go with your sister who doesn’t really care about the band, but feels sorry for you. And then you get there and you’re trying to like the music, but you don’t really so you leave early, but first you buy five t-shirts so you can wear one every weekday so people think you like Dave Matthews. So you wear those shirts around school but in reality you never stopped listening to Insane Clown Posse.
Zune, I truly don’t know your purpose in life. I hope you believe in electronic reincarnation, because maybe the terrible iteration of yourself could be recycled into a volume switch of the next generation iPod.
Don’t call me,
Dear Bravo TV,
Thank you? I don’t know if you’ve made my life better, but you have completely filled up my DVR with shows that I had no idea I wanted to watch. I’m confused because I didn’t think I wanted to watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, because the very idea of the show is so silly that it makes me want to sell my TV, but here I am watching these wealthy train wrecks from all over America and even taking occasional lunch excursions to Villa Blanca. And Top Chef is the show I look forward to most each week. Maybe you are poisoning me, but like a guy who wakes up from the Matrix and realizes he would rather be plugged in, so do I choose to watch without questioning.
by CC Pearce
a guy who can’t remember the last time he wrote a real letter.