Dear writers of The Simpsons,
I owe you an apology. Over the last few years, I have been quoted on numerous occasions as saying that Family Guy is funnier than your show. I have purchased every season of Family Guy DVD's, but none of yours...until recently. I went online and bought season 6 (your absolute prime) and laughed my ass off, which caused me to buy season 7, and I laughed my ass off some more. I regret to say that I have refused to watch your new episodes for about 6 years now. Your movie was pretty decent, but you do have to admit, your show is just a shell of its former self. Regardless, how I could ever say that another show is funnier than yours is a severe oversight on my part. Family Guy may be Dwight Gooden (insanely good for a few years, then began falling off) but you're Greg Maddux (the best in the game for many, many years before the inevitable decline due to age.) You almost single-handedly built my sense of humor. As I was re-watching old episodes, I couldn't even count the number of mundane, everyday phrases I say that came from your throwaway jokes. You are the funniest cartoon of all-time. I just needed to be brought back to 1994 to remember it.
Dear CEO of Sonic,
Thank you. Over the last couple of weeks, my already-awesome-the-way-they-were chili cheese wraps have been crammed completely full of cheesy goodness. These little gems started out with the circumference of oversized soft-shell tacos, and have now become bigger than Chipotle burritos. It's at the point now that I can't eat them without making a huge mess of myself, and I've been forced to construct a makeshift placemat, made out of old payroll registers and tax deposit coupons, at my desk at work. Additionally, I received 5 mints at the bottom of my bag last week, as opposed to the standard 1 or 2. What may have happened: a series of random coincidences, or perhaps even a new company policy to double the size of chili cheese wraps, combined with a disgruntled employee who has sticky fingers when it comes to mint distribution. What I believe actually happened: you have finally discovered this blog, and have decided to reward me for all the shameless pimping of your fine eatery over the last 14 months. And for that I thank you. I'll continue to do it for free, but the compensation is greatly appreciated.
Dear flock of geese that reside on the 12th hole at Eagle Bend Golf Course,
Get off the damn fairway! You make noise, you poop all over the place, and you don't even move when my ball lands in the middle of your stupid goose party. Even though it's a long par 5, sometimes I unrealistically go for the green in two, just so my ball doesn't have the chance to roll through your minefield of shit. And if my ball does happen to land in the Terror Zone, then at least fucking move when I'm hitting my shot. Aren't you supposed to be scared of humans? I've never fired a gun in my life, but I bet I could take down at least 7 of you before the rest got away. A couple weeks ago I hit a shot and my divot smoked one of you in the back of the head, and another time I had to chase one of you away so I didn't clip you on my backswing. I'm not some psycho who enjoys mutilating animals in the first steps on his path to becoming some serial killer, but I swear that the next time one of you waddles over and tries to pick up my Titleist, I'm going to take my pitching wedge and jack you so hard in the face that your beak ends up on the back of your neck like Daffy Duck.
Dear Dick Vitale,
If it isn't too much trouble, could you please let me know the results of your coin flip? You know, the one where you choose either Duke or North Carolina as your preseason #1? The season is rapidly approaching, and I know that I, for one, am on the edge of my seat wondering which one it could be. Oh wait. You already flipped it and it came up North Carolina. Sorry for wasting your time. That was not very Awesome with a capital A of me to do that. My bad.
