Dear Graffiti Artist,

Why?

In the name of Andy Warhol, why?

Seriously, why would you do something like that? What is the point?

Why climb that overpass, and risk getting pancaked by an oncoming train,

Just to tell Joe that he “Sux Ballz?”

And you didn’t even spell it properly.

Unless you’re from some obscure land where “sux” is a thing people do, and “ballz” is what they do it to, why go to all the trouble just to wreck a perfectly good overpass, and make Joe feel bad about himself?

 

Dear Telemarketer,

What the hell, man?

What are you even doing with your life? I mean, come on.

I realize you’re just out to make an honest living, like everybody else, but this is getting a little bit ridiculous, okay?

I leave my apartment at 7:05 AM, and get off the train at 6:48 PM exactly. Every day. Every time, you somehow manage to call me exactly five seconds after I’ve sat down to relax.

How do you always know? Is it possible that you may be wasting your clairvoyant potential? Surely, there’s a circus somewhere or a show in Vegas you could join, one that doesn’t pay on commission or make me hate you with the fire of a thousand suns.

 

Dear Ex-Boyfriend,

What is wrong with you?

Honestly, were you raised by wolves? Adopted by Charles Manson, perhaps?

Did your parents never take you to a buffet growing up, or teach you not to take things unless you really want them? Have you never heard the phrase “don’t start something unless you plan on finishing it?”

If so, why would you go through the trouble of chasing me, of hounding me to go out with you, texting me sweet nothings all day, and always returning my calls, if you were just going to drop me later like a credit card customer with bad debt?

Why tell me you loved me, when you knew you were just going to sh#! all over my heart?

Why work so hard to make me confess that I loved you back?

Did you just want to leave a mark on me, was that it? You didn’t care what it said, as long as you ruined me for everyone else, right? You tagged me, carelessly, then left me to wonder WHY.

 

And now I know exactly how Joe feels. This really sux. It sux ballz.