Dear Garage Sale Entrepreneur:

The very concept of the garage sale is ingenious. The idea that a person could simply drag his used, unwanted household items out to his front yard and dream up random prices for them, and the buying public would come to him, rather than him coming to them, is a dream come true. Hardly any effort involved on the seller's part, and yet the home gets a good de-cluttering and the homeowner makes a quick buck--and all in cash. A lazy man's dream! And one I embrace wholeheartedly. But let's establish some boundaries, in the name of common decency. Selling your old coffee maker? Acceptable. Selling your kid's outgrown shoes? No problem. Selling your germy bedsheets? ....O..kay, sure. I'll allow that, I guess. But selling your disgusting used panties? No, no, no, no, no, NO. I will not stand for it. Do you really need the ten cents that badly? Please, for God's sake, retain a small portion of your dignity and throw those tattered little bacteria traps in the trash rather than peddling them to your neighbors. And to those of you there who I've seen actually buying panties at garage sales...get away from my blog. You're permanently banned. Take that steaming crock pot of toxic microbes you're stewing up in your nether regions and stink up someone else's blog.


Dear Purchaser of Tiny Figurines:

True, I have a Rottweiler, and no, she's not the first or even the second Rottweiler I've ever owned. So yes, one could infer that I'm a fan of the breed. But where is it written that a person wants a house full of tiny replicas of the things they own in life size? I own a vagina, but I certainly wouldn't want an assortment of miniature vagina figurines scattered across the shelves in my home. What shall I do with this wee porcelain doggie lounging on a wee porcelain couch? Or this stack of fanciful Rottweiler notecards? What kind of bozo would I look like in this horrible Rottweiler t-shirt? And what about me makes you think I like porcelain figurines and cutesy notecards and garish t-shirts, anyway? Where will this end? Next you'll be giving me a jumbo box of Rottweiler tampons. Let's put an end to this before it gets out of hand.

Dear Hysterical Email Forwarder:

I'll confess. Each time I receive an email with a title like "PLEEEEASE REEEEAD!!" I toss it without bothering to open it. It's not so much because I don't have the time, or don't care enough (although both of those are also true), but mostly because your hysteria is unwarranted and self-centered, and wholly inappropriate. Calm down, for Christ's sake. Get a grip on yourself. And when did we decide that adding extra vowels to words made them more important? Well, I won't bow to it. I refuse to "reeeead" your stupid email. Instead, I deeeleeeete it cheerfully and swiftly. Now go fuuuuck yourself, Assswiiipe.

Labels: Dear Jackass, I hate people