Saturday, April 5, 2008

So I balanced my check book today...

Dear Bank Account,

I'm sorry.

Love, Pants

Friday, April 4, 2008

Can you smell that smell?

Dear Neighbors,

I sure hope whatever the hell it is you cook that makes our apartment reek like rancid ass tastes better than it smells.

Or, alternatively...

Dear Landlord,

I would like to request a maintenance investigation of a shared air duct wherein I'm very nearly sure some small creature who dunked itself in fatty diarrhea, rolled in the McDonalds' refuse around the corner and rubbed the toenail clippings of a seventy-three year old man with fungal issues all over itself, has crawled into our apartment vent to consume a snack of sauerkraut before keeling over and rotting for dead.

Love, Pants

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Food for Thought

Dear Erotic Cake Baking Company,

My, aren't you clever. I particularly enjoyed the "To Have and To Hold," inscription available for penis bachelorette cakes. There's something so appropriately inappropriate about a pun scrawled across an edible Johnson that appeals to me (I think it's my repressed writer-dom). So much so in fact, I ordered a "Mouthful," for my cousin's upcoming night of debauchery.

When the receptionist who took my order said, "Alright ma'am, I've got one 'Mouthful' down, would you like that to be coming?" I knew you meant business. I bet all your bakers wear business socks. You know, dedication to their art and all that.

Despite how impressed I am with your commitment to your jobs, I think you should seriously reconsider your web design. Specifically, you might want to relocate your "More Options," cakes to a different part of your web page. When I consulted Mean Bean Green about which phallus was most appetizing, she asked to see the "More Options," listed.

"Oh, you don't want to see those. It's all other specialty cakes, like Harry Potter and stuff."


"Yeah, I assume for kids' birthdays or something."


"No, no no, I mean, they do cakes other than erotica evidently."

"Ohhh... I was gonna say, how could you tell? Was there a lightning scar on it?"

Love, Pants

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

I'll have to clean the bathroom for this.

Dear Mean Bean Green,

Nowhere in our housing contract does it indicate that living with me requires you become a utensil taster. Last night you went above and beyond the call of roomie.

Even though we were at a restaurant that was way out of our league, or perhaps, because of it, you willingly checked to see if the tines of my fork really did taste like straight up metal. You affirmed that yes, there was a reason my meal tasted like pennies. Thank you.

I knew it wasn't just me.

Love, Your Roommate

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

A Fool for April

Dear April,

So. I hear you're quite the wannabe. The Internet tells me you're proffering a challenge, you saucy minx. A challenge that is uncannily similar to November's proposition.

You too are attempting to entice bloggers to post every single day, although this time you've upped the ante. You've got a theme. Well. Aren't we high maintenance, all hoity toity with imminent showers and promises of flowers.

Your theme is letters. Be they correspondance, typography, interesting signs... you just want letters. You remind me of me in the second grade when I tried to accrue as many pen pals as humanly possible because I was desperate to get mail. Although, I'd venture you're a little more desperate, what with the whole soliciting the entire blogosphere and all.

I don't know if I'll be able to meet your needs, April... my second year of medical school is ending next week and then I'll be descending into a hell of my own creation, better known as studying for the boards. These are things that demand time and, were I responsible student, all of my attention. But you are intriguing, April... I don't know, something in your taunting overtures makes me want to try.

30 letters in 30 days, eh? I'll give it a whirl... even though it is probably the last thing on Earth I should be doing with my time this month. You're worth it. You boast the best birth stone of any month in the calendar.

And should I fail, I can always chalk this up to your yearly joke.

Love, Pants.

p.s. I realize Christmas doesn't fall in your month... a more appropriate header is in the works.