Strongly Worded Letters to Inanimate Objects Part Three: “Kiss My Ass, Fortune Cookie”

Dear Fortune Cookie That Led Me to Believe I Could Be a Jedi,

So there I was letting my Mu Goo Gai Pan digest when I cracked you open and read the following:

“You will experience the force and it will change your life.”

Holy tits, I thought. I’m gonna be a Jedi! I'll be as cool as the fuckin' guy to the left!!



But then I read it again.

“You will experience a force that will change your life.”

Damn it! I wasn’t going to be a Jedi at all! That’s a bunch of shit to make me not read more good, dumbass fortune cookie!

In fact, I got so mad that I started jumping up and down and screaming and started punching things (the wall, the table, a nun), which freaked out the rest of the people in the restaurant. BUT I DIDN’T CARE! I was mad!

But, when I was jumping up and down it must’ve knocked something loose inside me because I crapped my pants and when I smelled the crap, it made me puke, and when some old lady saw me puke, she puked, and some baby that was sitting in a high chair crapped his pants too, and then the owner came out and saw all the puke and the shit and then he puked and shit, and then the owners wife came out and she puked and shit, too, and she also, for some reason, peed and for some reason when I saw her pee, I went pee and my pee mixed with my puke and shit and I had to drive home like that – caked in my own filth! AND I HAD PLANNED ON PICKING UP A NICE YOUNG LADY (see: prostitute) THIS EVENING! BUT NOW I CAN’T BECAUSE I HAVE TO GO HOME AND SHOWER FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS MONTH!

What the hell, fortune cookie?! This is all your fault!

But having said that, you were pretty tasty. Keep up the good work.

Yours,
Mike

So This is... Christmas?

It’s always amusing this time of year. If it weren’t for those two mortal enemies of populous, average thought (logic and reasonable thinking), you might start to believe all the buzz words and phrases that seem to crop up on “Fox News” and “The 700 Club” when the wind turns cold and the jolly guy invites your kids to sit on his lap (I mean Santa Claus, not Jerry Sandusky).

You’ve heard it: “Keep ‘Christ’ in Christmas!” “Say NO to ‘Happy Holidays’”, and, of course, “There’s a War on Christmas!”

Really? So, what exactly IS a War on Christmas? Are roving gangs of Jewish militants sabotaging the Christmas cards? Are they covertly replacing eggnog with Manischewitz wine, ham with gefilta fish, the “White Christmas” DVD with a Mel Brooks movie? Or have “the gays” formed a FABULOUS militia infiltrated our military? (According to the Village People they already have our Navy.)

It’s kind of funny when certain Christians complain that their traditional Christmas values are under attack. After all, Christmas does celebrate the birth of Christ, but the pageantry surrounding it (lights in the trees, giving gifts, etc.) is rooted in Pagan tradition (as is Easter). So, do you have a tree in your home? Did you put up lights? Will you exchange gifts? If so, you’re engaging in a partially-Pagan tradition!

What I’m asking, brothers and sisters, is this: Why are you complaining that so many groups are trying to enforce their traditions and beliefs on you when you’ve already adopted the traditions of other groups (the Pagans) well over a couple of centuries ago? Simply BECAUSE you celebrate Christmas in the manner that you do (gifts, lights, trees, etc.), is proof enough that you were willing and able to let other groups combine with your own traditions to form a whole new way of celebration!

So, I ask you, what’s the freakin’ problem?

Maybe the biggest enemy on Christian values this time of year isn’t an outside force.

Maybe it’s hypocrisy.

But as far as getting offended over the term “Happy Holidays” is concerned, maybe we should just come up with a new holiday slogan that can appease everyone and slight no one’s belief system.

How about:

“May whatever god/goddess/thing you worship bring you peace/happiness, try real hard not to fight with/offend/kill anyone that doesn’t think like you, and, above all, know when to keep your mouth shut, and be willing to admit that you don’t have all the fucking answers.”

Yeah, it’s probably too long for a Hallmark card, but at least I’m trying.

Strongly Worded Letters to Inanimate Objects Part Two: "Indian Food"

Dear Plate of Indian Food that I Ate Which Caused Me to Shit Uncontrollably for Two Days,

Indian Food, I will put it plainly: you have wrecked my asshole. Not even my former priest Father Daniel “Tell No One” O’Neal can lay claim to that. So, should I congratulate you? Well, I WILL NOT! I refuse to bestow a congratulatory handshake, because you don’t have hands, and even if you did have hands I wouldn’t shake your hands! SO THERE!

What I would like to do is kick you in the balls, but I can’t, because you have no balls, but if you did, you could CONSIDER THOSE BALLS KICKED, MOTHERFUCKER!

How is it that something that takes but an hour to cook and twenty minutes to eat end up fucking up my shit for forty-eight hours? And by “fucking up my shit” I literally mean my shit is fucked up! Seriously! Oh, dear God, the burning! And the diarrhea, oh, the endless diarrhea! You know, I had wondered my entire life why people from India talk so fast. It’s not because of their culture, it’s simply because they’re trying to wrap up the conversations as soon as possible so they can get to the nearest fucking toilet!




GHANDI WAS NOT DOING ANYTHING NOBLE DURING HIS HUNGER STRIKE! NO, NO! HE JUST COULDN’T STAND THE FOOD ANYMORE!

You are like the Kid Rock of foodstuffs, Indian Food – you turn my stomach, you won’t go away, and you’ve hung around way too fucking long. At least you had the decency to not ruin songs by Warren Zevon and Metallica. BUT THAT’S THE ONLY COMPLIMENT YOU SHALL GET FROM ME!

Here’s the thing: I am writing this on my laptop whilst it balances on my clenched knees as I sit on my toilet, trying my damndest to push any remaining remnant of you out of my system. But it is a battle I fear I cannot win. I feel like Napoleon at Waterloo! Custer at Little Big Horn! And that One Guy who got his Ass Kicked at that One Place that One Time!

Indian Food, if there be a just God in this universe, may He send thee to the Darkest Pits of Hell so that yea may rot for eternity! Or to Detroit. Whichever.

(Un)sincerely,
Mike