Letter Number Two-Hundred Fourteen.

Dear Chocolate Yogurt,

Ew.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Thirteen.

Dear iTunes Genius,

YOU'RE A RACIST.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Twelve.

Dear Drunk Self,

You didn't even drink that much when you wrote me that letter, and I STILL have no recollection of you writing it.

But point taken.

Love,
Sober Self

Letter Number Two-Hundred Eleven.

Dear Sober Self,

You are a fucking talented artist. Stop being such a pansy bitch. You piss me off sometimes with your wussiness and self-deprecation. Drink a beer and stop being a scaredy ass.

Love,
Drunk Self

Letter Number Two-Hundred Ten.

Dear Tumblarity,

I promised myself I wouldn't give a crap about you...so why did I just refresh the page I was looking at ten minutes ago to see if you went up?

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Nine.

Dear Hipsters Who Claim Not To Be Hipsters,

You're a hipster. How can you look, talk, walk, and act like a fucking hipster and have the gall to claim you're simply an artist, aspiring anarchist, or overzealous neckerchief aficionado? Congratulations on perfecting the "I don't give a shit about anything, not even my blatant poserness" facial expression, though.

Please let me choke you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Eight.

Dear Tea Tree Australian Chewing Sticks,

Giving myself multiple voluntary splinters in my tongue sure makes me feel cool! I can't believe I had forgotten why I bought you last time!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Seven.

Dear CAPTCHAs,

As time goes on, I find it harder and harder to figure you out. Either people are starting to make you WAY too complicated, or I'm becoming a computer bot...I'm scared.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Six.

Dear Hoobastank,

When you sell out to DENNY'S, maybe it's time to throw in the towel.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. I mean, "hooburrito"? REALLY?

Letter Number Two-Hundred Five.

Dear Neopets,

My only lasting emotion from you is a perpetual desire for omelettes. Especially ones with cheese and onion.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Four.

Dear Post Office,

I'm sorry what my horrible, selfish online letter-writing is doing to your business! I never meant to hurt you, honest! I think you are great, and not just because part of me really wants to be a mail carrier. Well, that's partly it.

Therefore, in April I am going to commit to writing and sending one real-life letter for each electronic letter written.

I love you, man!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Three.

Dear "My Top 5 Beers" Participators On Facebook,

Putting "Fat Tire" as one of your favorite beers does not make up for the fact that your other four have the words "Bud", "Miller", "Lite", or some combination thereof, in them.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Two.

Dear Joaquin Phoenix,

I don't like celebrity gossip...

...but what the fuck happened to you, buddy?


Besides lots and lots of drugs...


...already got that one.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred One.

Dear Oh!s,

The way you cut the roof of my mouth and make it swell is a small price to pay for your wonderfully crunchy deliciousness

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred.

Dear Vagina,

You are being unreasonable.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Nine.

Dear Patchwork Shorts,

As the weather gets nicer and nicer, I can't help but wonder: ARE YOU OUT OF STYLE YET?!

Love,
Kymba

P.S. The past two summers have exuded some definite lame-itude due to your existence.
P.P.S. Don't even bring up those patchwork panties I saw once. Holy frick.

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Eight.

Dear Shia LeBeouf,

No matter how much stubble you attempt to grow, or how many action movies you're in...you will never look not-twelve-years-old.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Seven.

Dear Webcomics,

Reading your early updates before going to bed is giving me very little reason to get up in the morning. :(

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Six.

Dear Hippies,

I understand that you strongly relate to the independent, non-conformist mindset of the cat, especially ones that roam the outdoors starting scratchfests with those bastard pro-corporate animals in your yard, and come home with their prance of superiority to the organic food you bestow upon it in your co-op style housing...

...but I wanna live there too.

...freakin' allergies.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Five.

Dear Mint Chocolate-Covered Cashews,

I wasn't sure at first...but YES. YES.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Four.

Dear Ugly (Being It, Not Wearing It),

I wish you were "in".

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Three.

Dear Year-Old Growler I Never Cleaned Out Sitting In The Corner,

Ruh-roh...

Love,
Kymba

Guest Letter Wednesdays! Number Twenty-Three: (t)WOO-FER WEDNESDAY!

Dear One Panel Comics,

Your simplicity is what makes you so brilliant and funny. Your syntax is that rare bridge where real speak meets internet speak and where metaphor gets translated into its purest form of humor: the short, spunky, mental image. So in an attempt to be as brief as you are: hey thanks. you're great.

Love,
Kate.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Kym,

If you make this for me: http://thea-trical.blogspot.com/2009/01/happiest-cylon.html I will play your vagina like a harmonica.

Love,
David

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-Two.

Dear YahooMail,

The animated ads on your site are the most obnoxious of any email provider. If I have to see one more person with anatomically impossible fat distribution jiggling wildly while I try to check my "make your man's carrot grow" and "off the lights unleash the terror in your pants" emails, bitches gon' get choked.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety-One.

Dear Hawaiian Shirts With Faded Designs So It Looks Like You're Wearing Your Shirt Inside Out,

Since we're on this Fashion Police trend...yeah, you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Ninety.

Dear "Anonymous" Woman Who Gave Birth To Octuplets When She Already Has Six Children,

WHY DID YOU NEED FERTILITY TREATMENT WHEN YOU ALREADY HAVE SIX CHILDREN?!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Nine.

Dear Combing Your Eyebrows With Your Thumb And Pinky,

Prepare for a comeback, my good man!

Love,
Kymba

Guest Letter Wednesdays! Number Twenty-Two: David Acts Like He Knooows Me.

Disclaimer: David wrote this letter.

Dear Letters To Crushes,

Kymba Writes A Letter is so much better.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Eight.

Dear Halter Vests,

Good shit, man, you're a disgusting design.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. And I'm not just saying that because people with my "condition" look terrible in you.
P.P.S. By "condition", of course, I mean boobs.

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Seven.

Dear People With Never-Ending Creative Inspiration,

Fuck you, your talent, and your muses.

Fuck the inferiority complex you give me...you...big poohead.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Jeph Jacques, this made me think of you.
P.P.S. But I still think you're great.
P.P.P.S. Sowwy.

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Six.

Dear Faux Pockets On Dress Pants and Jackets,

A seemly stitch would do fine, or some type of embellishment, however I simply do not see the merit of giving the illusion of functionality to a piece of clothing. You only serve to upset me when I buy a piece of clothing only to find that there isn't actually a place to store my Chapstick and hoards of prophylactics.

What? Girl gotta get laid.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Extra kudos to the fools who put pockets in pants and then stitch them up, so they can't be used without being cut open.

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Five.

Dear 2009,









+











= A Freaking Fantabulous Start


Love,
Kymba

P.S. What do you predict in the me-eating-lotsa-cupcakes realm?

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Four.

Dear Facebook (And Third-Parties You've Sold My Information To),

Why, yes, I would like to buy some booty shorts for $7.99! Your marketing strategies and analysis know me so well!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Three.

Dear Couple Who Cropdusted Me At The Track Today,

There is PROTOCOL about this sort of situation which dictates:

Thou Shalt Not Fart Unless The Person Behind Thou On Thy Track Is Half A Lap Away Minimum.

Now, I was only about 30 feet behind you when you violated the sanctity of this holy exercising law, which was just enough time for the offending flatulence to reach its full stink potential. Adding insult to injury was the fact that the few laps before this attack I was doing my darndest to follow said rule for those close behind me.

SO, thanks for both stinking up my space and making it look like I broke this cardinal track rule. Asshats.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-Two.

Dear Wool Yarn,

I don't care how stupid I look wearing goggles and gloves to crochet with you, cuz I'm going to Kick. Your. Ass.

Love,
Kymba

Guest Letter Wednesdays! Number Twenty-One.Dear CVS gift card

Dear CVS Gift Card,

Everyone seems to think you're a lame gift.

Well, y'know what?

Then THEY can spend their hard-earned money to buy me lame but necessary things like toothbrushes, deodorant, and shampoo. The point is, nobody WANTS to buy those things, but YOU make that possible at no actual cost to me!

Thank you CVS gift card!

Love,
Kate

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty-One.

Dear American Dad,

You are...just...plain...awful.

But...you're...animated.

So I will continue watching you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighty.

Dear Cereal,

It occurred to me this morning while eating a bowl of Wild Harvest Mango Crisp that you will probably save my life in the long run.

Thanks, friend.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Nine.

Dear Knitting,

Ever since I decided to "try" crocheting, I've been promising knitter after knitter that I haven't abandoned the cause, that they still have an ally in front of them who has only taken up the hook for temporary investigation. But this pure curiosity has grown, and sometimes - I think you know where this is going - I just don't know if there's going back.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. I know it takes a third more yarn, but you take three times longer to do! Some of us are getting old too fast for this.

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Eight.

Dear Crease In A Moleskine,

Thank you for being perpetual commentary to my inadequacies as an artist. Each day that I fail to draw a picture that takes up both sides of a page, or that nagging voice inside prohibits me from doodling "on the back of another drawing", I hear your maniacal laughter. Every time my pen is afraid to approach that rocky territory that might result in a crooked line I'll want to rip out, I visualize you, to quote Kate, "pissing in my Cheerios". My artistic Cheerios. I am TRAPPED on the right half of any given page, and you REFUSE to show me any compassion or mercy! DAMN YOUR SOULLESS UNEVENNESS!!!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Seven.

Dear My Governor (Blago-Blago-Blagojevich),

I mean, no one thought you were going to suddenly start doing well, but I don't think we thought you'd start sucking more.

This might be premature, but really? Foo'.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Six.

Dear Grandma,

This is the glorious day you were born.

It is also the glorious day 75 years ago when we repealed Prohibition via the 21st amendment.





I will be drunk-dialing you to sing "Happy Birthday" soon!

Love,
Kymba

Guest Letter Wednesdays! Number Twenty: Kate Helps My Eczema.

Dear Kym,

A mental collection of images for you, so you might hurt less.

Imagine yourself in a big, comfortable oatmeal bath that smells like mint and silly grasses and herbs. Maybe lemongrass and peppermint.

Your humidifier is on.

The room is...moderately warm. enough to be cozy, but not enough to be stuffy.

When you get out of the tub, there is huuuuuuge container of lotion that is a mixture between calamine, hydrocortisone, and cocoa butter. It's quite obviously a light shade of orangey peach, and a famous masseuse applies it to you so you don't have to move or put any efffort into it.

Thennnn...you get to wear a soft, comfy, sunset orange flannel onesie. You get served cocoa with marshmallows, and cool mint oreos.

Obviously a goofy movie is on TV.

Now, picture all of that and try to relax. Hopefully it'll ease a little of your pain. I love you!!!!!!

Love,
Kate

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Five.

Dear Low-Fat Egg Nog,

You poor, sad little bastard.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Four.

Dear Key Lime Pie,

...ahem.
Thank you for bein' a friend
Traveled down the road and back again
Your heart is true; you're a pal and a confidant
And if you threw a party
Invited everyone you knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me and the card attached would say "Thank you for bein' a friiiiiiiiend"...

Okay, thanks!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Three.

Dear PostSecret Readers Who Suggested A Warning Be Put Up About The Fake Larvae Boob Picture,

Here it is:

WARNING: YOU'RE FRICKIN' READING POSTSECRET.

Ta-daaaaa!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-Two.

Dear Patrick Swayze,

Like most men, it took you dressing like a woman for me to realize how much I was underestimating your talent.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy-One.

Dear Randall Munroe,

My [unprovoked] dear friend has decided to attempt to make me your






.

Be on the look-out for a hyper-excited geekgirl...or eight-hundred.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventy.

Dear Push-Up Bras,

My tatties hurt. Does that mean it's working?

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Nine.

Dear White Chocolate,

I seriously doubt you are the favorite chocolate of anyone over ten years old.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Eight.

Dear Rich People Who Come To My Coffee House,

What gall you have seeking pity from your working class barista about the taxes you'll "endure" for making over 250,000 a year. You aren't going to "lose all your money to the government" now, nor should I feel bad for you if you somehow can't afford $5.00 espresso drinks with $3.00 pastries every morning (I'd factor in tip, but - let's face it - you don't fucking do that anyway) for the rest of your life while some people don't have enough to eat any kind of breakfast.

Am I supposed to be worried that:

1. this probably won't have that big of an effect on your stupidly-rich asses anyway?
2. if it miraculously did, you might realize what most of the country is going through every fucking day and stop being the greedy, selfish sacks of crap you are now?

I'm really fucking moved by your plight.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. This is unapologetically my angriest letter to date. You guys suck.

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Seven.

Dear Attempts To Keep This Blog Apolitical,

PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA!!!!!!!!!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Six.

Dear Americans,

If you don't vote tomorrow, I will drink Traditional Medicinals Smooth Move and come to your house.

Fill in the rest with your imagination.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Happy Election Day!

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Five.

Dear Candy,

Blechhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

See you next year.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Four.

Dear Junior Mints,

I can't remember the last time I had a fresh one of you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Three.

Dear Ah Beard,

I don't care if it takes the rest of my menstrual life...when I hit menopause, I am sooooo growing you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-Two.

Dear RC Color Bug,

W to the TF.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. http://www.rcarttoys.com/

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty-One.

Dear Old People In Oldsmobiles,

I know it's a common stereotype that old people drive slow, but you honestly have no excuse. Your speed increases even after you take your foot off the accelerator in an Oldsmobile. I tip-toed the gas pedal and get pulled over for doing 61 in a 40.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Though traffic school taught me the invaluable ability to make a right turn.

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixty.

Dear Spliffigami Inventors,

Maybe if you let me smoke one of your inventions, I'll understand what the hell it is.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Nine.

Dear Omaha Safe-Haven System Abusers,

There's "missing the point"...and then there's you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Eight.

Dear Indeep,

Thanks for making me a copy of that recipe!

Era-Straddling 80s Disco/"Hip-Pop" Group

2 cups Hot Black Ladies in Funky-Fresh Dresses
1 cup Half-Catatonic Bearded White Guy

Makes about 1 catchy song

Yummy!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Seven.

Dear Kashi Good Friends Cereal,

I have a good friend.

She is Mexican.

In conclusion, in keeping with your ideology of one-whitey/one-brownie per box, I believe my Mexican Good Friend and I would make an acceptable forced-multicultural addition to your cereal-box-melting-pot/cereal-bowl.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Six.

Dear Today's Big Fail,

I have spent the majority of my life trying to be a compassionate human being by active listening, befriending some of the more lonely-looking people, and not laughing at other people's pain (going so far to call out those who do!)...but dammit if this hasn't completely obliterated the latter:

http://www.todaysbigfail.com/view/20080704

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Five.

Dear Mrs. Grass' Noodle Soup,

Generic brand ain't got nothin' on ya "flavuh nugget".

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Four.

Dear Twitter,

Thanks for allowing me to see my friends' random, undeveloped, minute thoughts, rather than the detailed and interesting inner workings of their days and minds. That's obviously why I became friends with them in the first place, so I could read the series of endlessly interesting two-second texts about how they just ordered some fuckin' cheesesticks at Denny's and then received them and ate them.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. At 12:39 a.m. I wanted to punch you in the head.

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Three.

Dear Inversion Exercise Equipment,

Nothing says "getting in shape" like hanging upside down on the broken lawnchairesque contraption that is the Teeter Hang Ups F5000.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Two.

Dear "Iced Tips",

No. No. Your time was nine years ago. You are ruining men.

Or, rather, helping us identify the lame ones...like a style-wounded gazelle...

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-One.

Dear Hillary Clinton,

I deeply respect your diplomatic endorsement...of orange pantsuits.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty.

Dear Vegan Hotdogs,

You are so close to being real hotdogs that I forgive you for having the texture decayed chickpeas.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Nine.

Dear M.I.A. (The Muscial Artist),

Don't you feel like "Paper Planes" is going to get some goofy, twiggy hipster accidentally shot?

Eh.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Eight.

Dear My Golden Tan,

I never want this summer to end, because it means you will leave and fade into memory. This has been so much more than a fling to me, even though you seem to think you can just walk off in the cloudy, cloudy days to come.

Remember the good times we had, my beautiful, golden tan? Remember when you [sun]kissed me down by the pool? Or those wonderful days in the mountains of Colorado? I even forgive you for the burn I felt from that passionate afternoon at the beach when I decided "protection" wasn't necessary. Just don't go.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Seven.

Dear Keds,

You are going to make frickin' bank with fully customizable shoes, my friend.

And here's why:













Yessssssssssssssssss.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Six.

Dear Individually-Wrapped Jelly Beans,

Damn you for both your waste and your inefficiency! You make eating jelly beans a friggin' chore.

And that's just not right.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Five.

Dear Bed, Bath, And Beyond,

There has to be a better way to organize your stores. One where I don't feel like I need to be on a buddy system or have entered a different dimension every time I turn a corner...a dimension from which I'll never escape and will have to survive on bags of stale bite-size Snickers and mouthwash.

At least the beds will be comfy.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Four.

Dear High Self-Esteem,

You just make me want to make out with things.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Three.

Dear Bluejays,

You are the douchebags of the sky.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-Two.

Dear Random Website,

Thanks for letting me know I've slept with 12 less people than others my age living in Chicago. This will totally be the kick-start I need to stop wearing panties when I go out.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty-One.

Dear Utah,

A 3.2% maximum alcohol content on beer essentially renders it a wheat juice box.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. MORMONS!!!

Letter Number One-Hundred Forty.

Dear Hiking Boots,

Ooo I bought you
I don't know if I need you but
Ooo I'm 'bout to find out...

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Yes, I am a mega-tool.
P.P.S. See you in three weeks, everybody! Gotta go try out them boots...in Utah. If I encounter a computer along the way, I will definitely post a letter (or three!)!

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-Nine.

Dear Jay Chandrasekhar,

Just, come on - can we get married already?

Love,
Kymba

P.S. And have one of those post-moderny hyphenated names?! Oh, hell yes.

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-Eight.

Dear Housemates,

Thank you for re-installing my curtain door.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. I knew five nights of sleeping topless would getcha.

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-Seven.

Dear T9,

Yes, I was trying to write what a "ducking asphat" that guy was.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-Six.

Dear "Rick Rolling",

I realize I am severely late to the game, but you are an amazing concept.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. I was trying to watch Rick James at the time! Superb.

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-Five.

Dear Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,

You are the longest "fuck"-related word I can search for on google, and you still don't accurately express the "fuck" I have stewing in my mind right now.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Maybe one-hundred twenty-six Us would do it.

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-Four.

Dear Chocolate-Covered Bananas,

I don't know if it's the hot, humid weather or the inadvertent celibacy of the past many months, but I could definitely go for one of you right now.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-Three.

Dear Anyone With Either A Heart Or Two Minutes Currently Filled With Boredom,

Today is my birthday. Fancy that. Now, I don't need any presents or cards or any of that crud. But if you do want to give a little bit, go here: http://www.apple.com/feedback/ipodnano.html

Now, if you're an active reader, you should know what to do from here. However, if you need a hint: It's a freakin' color.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty-One.

Dear Canon Powershot 1100IS,

It took me at least a week to decide you were the one. I spent days over store magazines and the internet, reading reviews, considering megapixels, wondering if I could get close to an SLR or should even try to...and finally you were mine. And you have more than repaid the benjamins it cost to bring you home with this capture:















I love you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirty.

Dear 90s R&B,

We have to move on from one another, because, honestly, songs I had stuck in my head more than once during the month of June (I never heard them on the radio during that time, either):

Soul For Real: Every Little Thing I Do
Tyrese: Sweet Lady
LL Cool J: Round the Way Girl
Tyrese: How You Gonna Act Like That
Blackstreet: Don't Leave
Deborah Cox: Nobody's Supposed To Be Here

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Actually, that Tyrese stuff might be from 2001. Regardless.

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Nine.

Dear Chocolate-Flavored Skittles.

You taste like Tootsie Rolls with a hint of failure in them.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Eight.

Dear Churches With A Starbucks In Them,

Whether your members are pro- or anti-corporation, aren't they still a wee-bit weirded out?

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Seven.

Dear Technology,

Thanks for the ability to reach out to an "infinite" number of people from an "infinite" number of locations. No thanks for creating the need to mass-delete and re-label files every few months, like random webcomics and pictures of particularly cute puppies I collected by drag-n-dropping them to my desktop from the interwubs (Curse you, StumbleUpon!).

Love,
Kymba

P.S. To make matters worse, this process always seems to happen when I have something important to get done or long projects to write...hrm.

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Six.

Dear Chicago Tribune,

Thank you for alerting me to the fact that Barack Obama really, really likes turkey legs with gravy. Without hard-hitting journalism dedicated to quality, like yours, how could I possibly know which candidate would make the best companion to the Renaissance Faire?

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Five.

Dear Giant Spider In Our Doorway,

My desire to halt your leggy creepiness and my overwhelming need to bitch-slap my siblings on occasion are the only things keeping me from becoming a pacifist.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Four.

Dear Two Zits On My Bum,

You remind me to not feel sexy each time I sit down.

Thanks for the humility?

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Three.

Dear Friends,

I find I am much more productive in life when you don't exist.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Wanna hang out after I make a million dollars?

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-Two.

Dear Born-->School-->College-->"Real Job"-->Marriage-->Children-->Retirement-->Death Formula For Life,

I've decided to skip the rest of you.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Yeah, you heard right.

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty-One.

Dear Halogen Headlights,

I suppose you're safer for the person driving the car, but have your inventors calculated how many accidents other drivers have due to blinding by you?

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Or how many brawls have broken out from someone flashing them to turn off their brights, when it's really their regular halogen lights? Shit, son.

Letter Number One-Hundred Twenty.

Dear Man With Literally Fifty Bobblehead Chihuahuas On His Dashboard Who I Couldn't Get A Picture Of Because The Light Turned Green Too Soon,

You...them...

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Nineteen.

Dear Tastespotting.com,

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Love,
Kymba

P.S. We hardly baked enough recipes from ye.

Letter Number One-Hundred Eighteen.

Dear Freeze-Dried Foods,

I have been fascinated with you ever since my first trip to the planetarium, where they had astronaut neapolitan ice cream. It didn't matter that you tasted like skin flakes off a dirty table. What mattered was I knew that, at some point, you had been real ice cream. That was good enough.

Now, as I plan a camping trip, I look at three-cheese omelettes and wonder if it will bring me the same satisfaction to know that those eggs where once a real omelette. I mean, you can basically tell the ice cream was made while still in uneaten ice cream form, but these omelettes could very well have been scrapings left on someone's plate at Denny's.

Actually, you know, that's fine.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Because maybe there will be a couple pieces of hasbrowns that accidentally fell in...mmm...