2008/02/03 23:45
Open Letters, Super Bowl Edition
Dear Jordin Sparks,
You fail at the National Anthem. Seriously, how hard is it to count to three? It's like counting to four, but you stop one sooner. Also, there are no turns or mordents anywhere in the music. Never sing it again.
Thanks,
Rick
Dear Patriots coaching staff,
It's Phoenix, assholes. Take off the hoodies and go get some polo shirts. You look like a bunch of damn slobs.
Yours,
Rick
Dear Halftime Entertainment Selection Committee,
Here's a thought: How about next year, you get someone who's relevant to modern music to perform? This is a slippery slope you've got us on, picking groups that the prime 18-34 market liked in sixth grade. Who've you got lined up for next year? All-4-One?
Or a better thought, one I've stated previously: BRING BACK THE MARCHING BANDS.
With pride,
Rick
Dear Tom Petty,
Get a haircut, hippie.
Regards,
Rick
Dear Eli Manning,
Four years ago, when you were drafted by the San Diego Chargers and then pulled a prima-donna act and refused to play for them, I decided you were a tool and not worth my time. But today, you have redeemed yourself.
Today, you and your Giants stopped the Patriots' run toward only the second ever undefeated season in the modern NFL. You ensured that the most hated team in football today would not have bragging rights over not just the championship, but the perfect year.
Today, Eli, all is forgiven.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear BeliCheat,
SUCK ON THAT.
Love,
Rick
P.S. When you return to the seventh circle of Hell tonight, give my regards to Rachael.
You fail at the National Anthem. Seriously, how hard is it to count to three? It's like counting to four, but you stop one sooner. Also, there are no turns or mordents anywhere in the music. Never sing it again.
Thanks,
Rick
Dear Patriots coaching staff,
It's Phoenix, assholes. Take off the hoodies and go get some polo shirts. You look like a bunch of damn slobs.
Yours,
Rick
Dear Halftime Entertainment Selection Committee,
Here's a thought: How about next year, you get someone who's relevant to modern music to perform? This is a slippery slope you've got us on, picking groups that the prime 18-34 market liked in sixth grade. Who've you got lined up for next year? All-4-One?
Or a better thought, one I've stated previously: BRING BACK THE MARCHING BANDS.
With pride,
Rick
Dear Tom Petty,
Get a haircut, hippie.
Regards,
Rick
Dear Eli Manning,
Four years ago, when you were drafted by the San Diego Chargers and then pulled a prima-donna act and refused to play for them, I decided you were a tool and not worth my time. But today, you have redeemed yourself.
Today, you and your Giants stopped the Patriots' run toward only the second ever undefeated season in the modern NFL. You ensured that the most hated team in football today would not have bragging rights over not just the championship, but the perfect year.
Today, Eli, all is forgiven.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear BeliCheat,
SUCK ON THAT.
Love,
Rick
P.S. When you return to the seventh circle of Hell tonight, give my regards to Rachael.
Labels: open letters
2007/10/20 00:08
Here We Go Again
Dear New Era,
Thanks for updating your fitted hats. No, seriously -- I was just mourning the fact that my Tigers hat has already shrunken to smaller than my head after less than a year, so not having to repurchase another cap again will definitely be a bonus. However, while you were improving the line, couldn't you have made it so those plastic strands didn't come jutting out from under the crown seam after the first wearing and stab me in the head?
Concerned,
Rick
Dear Invisalign,
STOP FRIGGING YELLING AT ME WITH YOUR COMMERCIAL. Your potential customers have uneven teeth, not bad hearing.
Seriously,
Rick
Dear Jagged Edge,
"Baby Makin' Project"? Really? I mean, the chicks stopped paying attention to dance R&B after they felt a little poke coming through. At that point the self-referential joke had been taken as far as it could go. Or so I thought. Unless you guys are serious, in which case, um, good luck.
Your friend,
Rick
Dear Pizza Hut,
Enough with the made-up words already. You're still inflicting "P'Zone" on us, and now you're expecting us to buy "unhunger"? Buy a stylebook.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear Rachael Ray,
No, seriously. It's over between us.
Love,
Rick
P.S. I peed in your EVOO.
Thanks for updating your fitted hats. No, seriously -- I was just mourning the fact that my Tigers hat has already shrunken to smaller than my head after less than a year, so not having to repurchase another cap again will definitely be a bonus. However, while you were improving the line, couldn't you have made it so those plastic strands didn't come jutting out from under the crown seam after the first wearing and stab me in the head?
Concerned,
Rick
Dear Invisalign,
STOP FRIGGING YELLING AT ME WITH YOUR COMMERCIAL. Your potential customers have uneven teeth, not bad hearing.
Seriously,
Rick
Dear Jagged Edge,
"Baby Makin' Project"? Really? I mean, the chicks stopped paying attention to dance R&B after they felt a little poke coming through. At that point the self-referential joke had been taken as far as it could go. Or so I thought. Unless you guys are serious, in which case, um, good luck.
Your friend,
Rick
Dear Pizza Hut,
Enough with the made-up words already. You're still inflicting "P'Zone" on us, and now you're expecting us to buy "unhunger"? Buy a stylebook.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear Rachael Ray,
No, seriously. It's over between us.
Love,
Rick
P.S. I peed in your EVOO.
Labels: open letters
2007/10/13 22:53
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
Dear Rachael Ray,
This may be the hardest letter I'll ever write. We've had a good run, after all -- you perform hideous media abominations and I mock you. But this just isn't working out for me anymore.
It's not you, it's me. No, strike that; it's mostly you. As your exposure, your volume, your amount of eyeliner have all gone up, your shows have become unwatchable. I used to cherish 30 Minute Meals for its savvy interpretations of simplistic yet well-rounded meals, but let's be honest -- how many times can I be expected to watch you reinvent pasta or cheeseburgers?
When you took on the $40-a-Day role, that was the beginning of the end. Looking past the questionable hyphenation (even though one of them might be better pressed into service in the previous title), it was just another show about restaurants in places I will never go. And the restaurants you chose, the dishes you sampled, the chintzy, paltry tips you left! Rachael, the show is irresponsible and unconscionable, and yet you persist.
Then came the cavalcade of Oprah/Martha clones ... Inside Dish, Tasty Travels, the syndicated talk show, the magazine. Each less watchable than the previous. It's gotten to where if I see your hideous visage on my TV screen -- even during a commercial -- I shudder and quickly change the channel. And this is why our brief, twisted tryst must end. After all, if I'm not watching your show, how can I make fun of it?
I wish I'd been there to break it to you gently, Rachael, but you aren't a media empire. You're just a backwoods supermarket buyer who found a bright spot of fame making quick and easy meals on afternoon television. We must embrace our limitations. For example, I know that about four people are reading this, and you aren't one of them. But I know of no other way to tell you it's over.
Love always,
Rick
PS. Boy, first your husband and now me. I tell ya, Rachael, I almost feel bad for you. But not as bad as I feel for your makeup artist. She has no escape but to lose her job.
This may be the hardest letter I'll ever write. We've had a good run, after all -- you perform hideous media abominations and I mock you. But this just isn't working out for me anymore.
It's not you, it's me. No, strike that; it's mostly you. As your exposure, your volume, your amount of eyeliner have all gone up, your shows have become unwatchable. I used to cherish 30 Minute Meals for its savvy interpretations of simplistic yet well-rounded meals, but let's be honest -- how many times can I be expected to watch you reinvent pasta or cheeseburgers?
When you took on the $40-a-Day role, that was the beginning of the end. Looking past the questionable hyphenation (even though one of them might be better pressed into service in the previous title), it was just another show about restaurants in places I will never go. And the restaurants you chose, the dishes you sampled, the chintzy, paltry tips you left! Rachael, the show is irresponsible and unconscionable, and yet you persist.
Then came the cavalcade of Oprah/Martha clones ... Inside Dish, Tasty Travels, the syndicated talk show, the magazine. Each less watchable than the previous. It's gotten to where if I see your hideous visage on my TV screen -- even during a commercial -- I shudder and quickly change the channel. And this is why our brief, twisted tryst must end. After all, if I'm not watching your show, how can I make fun of it?
I wish I'd been there to break it to you gently, Rachael, but you aren't a media empire. You're just a backwoods supermarket buyer who found a bright spot of fame making quick and easy meals on afternoon television. We must embrace our limitations. For example, I know that about four people are reading this, and you aren't one of them. But I know of no other way to tell you it's over.
Love always,
Rick
PS. Boy, first your husband and now me. I tell ya, Rachael, I almost feel bad for you. But not as bad as I feel for your makeup artist. She has no escape but to lose her job.
Labels: open letters
2007/03/20 20:26
Open Letters, Bathroom Edition
Dear guy peeing in the stall,
This extra level of seclusion is totally unnecessary. Yes, there are only two urinals, and a mere half-partition between them. But rest assured I'm not planning to check out your junk. And if you're worried about me catching you examining the merchandise, don't be -- for one, I'm totally secure in my masculinity, and secondly, I'm certainly not going to leave the bathroom bragging about some dude eyeing my piece.
Furthermore, if you do need more pee-pee privacy, why did you leave the door hanging open?
Just curious,
Rick
Dear guy who doesn't flush the urinal,
You're really not saving that much water, man. It's worth the pint to not advertise to the world that you had asparagus for lunch.
Thanks,
Rick
Dear guy who just got done dropping the kids off at the pool and is now giving his hands a cursory two-second rinse under cold water before drying them on his pants and leaving,
Ew.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear Rachael Ray,
When you pee standing up, do people look at you weird?
Love,
Rick
This extra level of seclusion is totally unnecessary. Yes, there are only two urinals, and a mere half-partition between them. But rest assured I'm not planning to check out your junk. And if you're worried about me catching you examining the merchandise, don't be -- for one, I'm totally secure in my masculinity, and secondly, I'm certainly not going to leave the bathroom bragging about some dude eyeing my piece.
Furthermore, if you do need more pee-pee privacy, why did you leave the door hanging open?
Just curious,
Rick
Dear guy who doesn't flush the urinal,
You're really not saving that much water, man. It's worth the pint to not advertise to the world that you had asparagus for lunch.
Thanks,
Rick
Dear guy who just got done dropping the kids off at the pool and is now giving his hands a cursory two-second rinse under cold water before drying them on his pants and leaving,
Ew.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear Rachael Ray,
When you pee standing up, do people look at you weird?
Love,
Rick
Labels: open letters
2007/03/09 13:48
Open Letters (third in a series)
Dear Pimp My Ride,
A college kid does not need more TVs in his car than I have in my house. When you're taking seats out to put more TVs in, you're slightly past the stage of missing the point.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear lady behind me in line at Dunkin' Donuts,
The sign says "Please wait here for next available cashier," not "please climb up the ass of the guy at the counter." They're gonna get to you even if you aren't standing on my feet while I wait for my coffee.
Your friend,
Rick
Dear ESPN,
It's tourney time, and I appreciate that you have a lot to do on SportsCenter covering all the basketball games. But seeing as there are also some women's games going on, do you think you could put them in the ticker? I have a feeling more people than just me care about those -- and let's face it, Utah-BYU women is way more exciting than Morgan State-South Carolina State men.
Also, would it kill ya to port over the scoreboard functionality to the personalized Web pages? Why can't I see my Lobos or Knights scores unless I dig through your site? You have it -- implement it.
Thanks,
Rick
Dear Rachael Ray,
Remember when you didn't shatter my eardrums when you spoke?
Love,
Rick
A college kid does not need more TVs in his car than I have in my house. When you're taking seats out to put more TVs in, you're slightly past the stage of missing the point.
Sincerely,
Rick
Dear lady behind me in line at Dunkin' Donuts,
The sign says "Please wait here for next available cashier," not "please climb up the ass of the guy at the counter." They're gonna get to you even if you aren't standing on my feet while I wait for my coffee.
Your friend,
Rick
Dear ESPN,
It's tourney time, and I appreciate that you have a lot to do on SportsCenter covering all the basketball games. But seeing as there are also some women's games going on, do you think you could put them in the ticker? I have a feeling more people than just me care about those -- and let's face it, Utah-BYU women is way more exciting than Morgan State-South Carolina State men.
Also, would it kill ya to port over the scoreboard functionality to the personalized Web pages? Why can't I see my Lobos or Knights scores unless I dig through your site? You have it -- implement it.
Thanks,
Rick
Dear Rachael Ray,
Remember when you didn't shatter my eardrums when you spoke?
Love,
Rick
Labels: open letters
2006/11/19 21:16
Open Letters (second in a series)
Dear Ken Hughes,
If it's so important that I return your not-a-sales-or-solicitation call, maybe you should give me your actual phone number. After all, if my call was as important as the automated phone bank would have me think, it would connect me to you, wouldn't it? Either give me your direct line or stop calling me.
Your friend,
Mo
Dear adults,
Stop asking children under the age of nine whether they have significant others. It's not funny, and it just makes you look like assholes.
Thanks,
Mo
Dear Universal Studios,
You may not be aware of this, but sometimes girls go to your theme parks too. All the Marvel comics characters and fire-breathing dragons and flatulent Shrek dolls are great, but maybe you want to think about some feminine character products other than Betty Boop. It could help bring in the 50% of the population you're otherwise losing to Disney.
Sincerely,
Mo
Dear Rachael Ray,
Remember when you used to talk about quick, easy, inexpensive food? That was awesome. I mean, face it, girl, your travels to Italy and your six-dollar ballpark hot dogs and your dining on banana blossom salad in a Hollywood star's personal restaurant is starting to alienate your core audience. We all know you have more money now, but that doesn't necessarily mean you get to rub it in our faces. Stop televising the trips to the Trevi Fountain and get back to showing me how to make eleven kinds of hamburger.
Love,
Mo
If it's so important that I return your not-a-sales-or-solicitation call, maybe you should give me your actual phone number. After all, if my call was as important as the automated phone bank would have me think, it would connect me to you, wouldn't it? Either give me your direct line or stop calling me.
Your friend,
Mo
Dear adults,
Stop asking children under the age of nine whether they have significant others. It's not funny, and it just makes you look like assholes.
Thanks,
Mo
Dear Universal Studios,
You may not be aware of this, but sometimes girls go to your theme parks too. All the Marvel comics characters and fire-breathing dragons and flatulent Shrek dolls are great, but maybe you want to think about some feminine character products other than Betty Boop. It could help bring in the 50% of the population you're otherwise losing to Disney.
Sincerely,
Mo
Dear Rachael Ray,
Remember when you used to talk about quick, easy, inexpensive food? That was awesome. I mean, face it, girl, your travels to Italy and your six-dollar ballpark hot dogs and your dining on banana blossom salad in a Hollywood star's personal restaurant is starting to alienate your core audience. We all know you have more money now, but that doesn't necessarily mean you get to rub it in our faces. Stop televising the trips to the Trevi Fountain and get back to showing me how to make eleven kinds of hamburger.
Love,
Mo
Labels: open letters
2006/10/06 10:10
Open Letters (first in a series)
Dear Rachael Ray,
Enough is enough. I love it that you know how to quickly assemble a healthy meal that doesn't taste like cardboard; it's helped me countless nights when I'm stumped and tired. But we're all starting to get a little sick of the over-perkiness. We can tell it's forced -- nobody is that passionate about a friggin' waffle at a fast-food restaurant. Maybe you should remind your image consultant why America fell in love with you in the first place.
Love,
Mo
Dear Pier One,
With what you're charging for four ounces of wax with a string in it, I think you could afford the extra ink to put a verb in your slogan.
Sincerely,
Mo
Dear Yahoo Sports,
I'm fully aware that there are college football games being played this weekend. However, I've told you numerous times of my deep and abiding love for the Detroit Tigers, and given that this is their first postseason in nineteen years, maybe I want to see how they fared against the perennial pennant juggernaut New York Yankers before you shove a joke of a game like Clemson-Wake Forest in my face. Just for future reference.
Thanks,
Mo
Dear Brandon Inge,
What is up with the soul patch? I mean, seriously.
Your friend,
Mo
Enough is enough. I love it that you know how to quickly assemble a healthy meal that doesn't taste like cardboard; it's helped me countless nights when I'm stumped and tired. But we're all starting to get a little sick of the over-perkiness. We can tell it's forced -- nobody is that passionate about a friggin' waffle at a fast-food restaurant. Maybe you should remind your image consultant why America fell in love with you in the first place.
Love,
Mo
Dear Pier One,
With what you're charging for four ounces of wax with a string in it, I think you could afford the extra ink to put a verb in your slogan.
Sincerely,
Mo
Dear Yahoo Sports,
I'm fully aware that there are college football games being played this weekend. However, I've told you numerous times of my deep and abiding love for the Detroit Tigers, and given that this is their first postseason in nineteen years, maybe I want to see how they fared against the perennial pennant juggernaut New York Yankers before you shove a joke of a game like Clemson-Wake Forest in my face. Just for future reference.
Thanks,
Mo
Dear Brandon Inge,
What is up with the soul patch? I mean, seriously.
Your friend,
Mo
Labels: open letters
