Various Open Letters
By Johnny Apocalypse
The "open letter" is a letter written to an individual, a specific group of people, or an organization, but published in a public format. The oldest open letters I can think of would come from the Bible (many of the epistles are open letters). Martin Luther wrote a few, Emile Zola wrote a very famous one, and now that the internet has infected our world, everyone who can string together a half-coherent sentence writes them.
I generally find open letters to be either utterly ridiculous, or overly optimistic. This is likely due in large part that most open letters are political and I openly despise politics. If an open letter ever brings about some serious change in the world of politics, I'll be amazed. It's probably about as useful as protesting. Yeah, in case you haven't noticed, protests don't get anything done. And that guy across the street protesting the protesters? The one with the picket sign that says "you're wasting your time"? That's me.
Now some open letters may make excellent points, some may be very well written, but since everyone writes them to everyone else, they've lost their poignancy.
Which is exactly why I'm writing some myself. Your political protests won't solve any problems, and my trying to get people to stop writing open letters won't do any damn good. If anything, the twenty people who read my stuff every month would just read it, laugh (hopefully), and move on with their lives.
But I'd rather make the problem worse anyway. Definitely more my style.
An open letter to the assholes on the highway yesterday,
What the FUCK is your problem? Why were you all going so slow? It was only four in the afternoon, that's not even rush hour! Most of you should have still been at work. Bunch of damn slackers!
It's funny, though, because I know why you were all driving slow. Because of the car accident. That was on the OTHER SIDE OF THE HIGHWAY. The wreck that wasn't in your way, that wasn't affecting you, and you have to come to a crawl over it. Why slow down? Why? You've never seen a car accident before?
"Well it looked like a nasty wreck, a car was flipped over."
Look, this is Colorado. During the winter you'll see all sorts of cars flipped over once they've slid off the highway on an icy day. That's no reason to bog down the roads.
You couldn't accidentally clip the tow trucks or the cop cars, because they were on the other side of the big concrete barrier. You couldn't plow over any pedestrians, because they were on the other side of the big concrete barrier. Seriously, move your ass.
"But someone might have died. and I kinda wanted to see their corpse."
You want to see a corpse? Use Google Images. Never seen a car accident? Google Images. Wonder what the undercarriage of a 2004 Honda Civic looks like? Google Images. That's what it's there for. Now get off the road so I can drive like a normal psychotic.
An open letter to the late Tommy Bolin,
I really dig the sound of your song "Post Toastee", but I have to admit I don't know what it's about. What's a post toastee anyway? Please feel free to contact me via shadowy apparition or my ouija board and fill me in.
Rest in peace,
An open letter to the people at Keebler,
Some time ago, I tried a box/bag of your Toffee Sandies. And holy shit, were those amazing! Those may be some of the best cookies I've ever had. Way better than the ones with those nasty pecans. I hate pecans.
However, I noticed a month later that my local grocery store was either no longer stocking them, or perhaps you quit shipping them there. Now you may assume that I'm upset, but this is actually a letter of thanks.
You see, I'm not exactly a man of "great will power". And had those Toffee Sandies kept showing up, I'd weigh about four hundred pounds by now. And I really don't want to weigh that much. I'm already a touch overweight, and if those cookies were still on the shelves-
DEAR GOD I WANT THOSE COOKIES BACK! WHY DID YOU STOP SHIPPING THEM? I SWEAR, IF I DON'T GET MORE OF THOSE COOKIES, I'LL-
-thank you very politely. As delicious as they were, I'm sure we can all agree that keeping them away from me is for the greater good, and-
-I'LL TORCH YOUR DAMN FACTORY AND EVERYONE IN IT! BRING BACK THE TOFFEE SANDIES! BRING THEM BACK!
In closing, thank you for incidentally caring about my health and well being.
An open letter to the gal in the cubicle next to me,
Since our shared cubicle wall holds our cabinets, you may not even know that I'm right next to you. But this is really irrespective to the matter as a whole, since there's someone right in front of you, someone about ten feet to your left, and an office full of people. And your voice really, really carries.
Now I'm not complaining. After years of tuning out my sister's incessant playing of All-4-One and Ace of Base, I'm a master at ignoring virtually everything. What I do care about, though, is your privacy.
You see, everyone knows that you're taking personal calls at work. I don't think anyone cares that you do- I certainly don't- since you get your job done. But we can hear it. We hear you giving someone instructions on taking care of your kid (do they have the first clue about what they're doing?), we hear you chatting with someone that you're apparently having a romantic liaison with, we hear you make plans to go out and get drunk.
I'm just saying, because I'm worried that you think these conversations are private. And they're really not.
All the best,
An open letter to the guy who fired a gun in my neighborhood last summer,
I bet you think you got away with it, don't you? You probably think everyone assumed it was a car backfiring or someone slamming a door really loud.
Well you didn't fool me. I've fired guns, lots of guns. And I know a gunshot when I hear it. Especially when it's coming from a few houses west of my house.
Now I don't know who or what you were shooting at, and frankly it's none of my business. But I don't like being woken up right before I'm about to fall asleep by your murderous rages.
The cops patrolling the neighborhood a few minutes after the gunshot? I called them. The guy who was running through the bushes armed to the teeth shortly after the cops left? Me again.
Next time, use a knife.
I'm on to you,
An open letter to the redhead in the burger joint last night,
You're pretty damn cute! I think that scrawny guy in the white shirt was your boyfriend, but if I'm wrong or it doesn't work out, hit me up. Seriously, that guy looks like a punk. You can do better.
Not just trying to get into your pants,
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