Letter Number One-Hundred Eleven.

Dear Backposting Feature On Blogspot,

Thanks in advance, dude!

Love,
Kymba

P.S. No one will notice two weeks of entries randomly appearing, right?

Letter Number One-Hundred Ten.

Dear Being Sick,

You greatly impair one's ability and willingness to update their blag in a timely, dependable manner, to the great disappointment of everyone. In the world.

Love,
Kymba

Guest Letter Wednesdays! Number Eighteen.

Dear Nickelodeon Writers:

The other day, I was taking care of a sick young child, who wanted to watch TV.

And so we watched Dora.

And on today's episode of Dora, Dora and Boots had to find a "magic stick" that only worked at the top of the "highest hill" in town, and when it worked, it made all the grass grow.

...sometimes I think you write this stuff just for the amusement of the babysitters.

Love,
Kate

Letter Number One-Hundred Nine.

Dear 101 Dalmatians,

You convinced me that it was not only awesome but completely feasible to care for a shit-ton of dogs in a two-room flat.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Except later I found out that dalmatians are little douchebags.
P.P.S. One-hundred one douchebags is a whole-lotta douchebags.

Letter Number One-Hundred Eight.

Dear Non-Sketchy Porn Stores,

It's not that I don't support you more than/as much as sketchy porn stores; it's just that they're open later and I don't have to expend as much effort trying not to look sketchy. This greatly appeals to my inner lazy, lazy pervert.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Seven.

Dear Latino Meat And Produce,

Seriously, I don't think you understand exactly what happens when I see the words "Latino" and "Meat" next to one another.










Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Six.

Dear Sufjan Stevens,

You not knowing me at all, yet being able to construct part of my life or how I feel about it flawlessly (in this case, Illinois - where you have never even lived and hardly visited) unnerves my identity as well as personally-understood reality.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. You are the "Stuff White People Like" of the music industry.

Guest Letter Wednesdays! Number Seventeen.

Dear Beachball Stealing Poopy Fartheads,

Who gave you the right to spoil my good fun at my graduation? How could you take about the simiple pleasure of those round colorful treasures? I mean seriously, that graduation stuff if some boring shit as it is. The four long hours of torture waiting for all 1500 names to get called. It's not like anyone was paying attention anyway! But no, you have to take sick pleasure in stealing away one of the only things we students had left. A little damn fun! Thank god for beachballs and thank god for finally graduating and getting away from you damn ball-taking, happiness-squashing turds.

Love,
Monie

P.S. Balls, lol.

Letter Number One-Hundred Five.

Dear Maps,

Perhaps you are impossible to fold because you don't want us to ever be able to quit and put away our dreams of adventure...

...you freaking sack of crap.

Dangit!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Four.

Dear Getting Up Early,

You are the worst way to start a day, because people like me never get enough sleep the night before. We're too busy worrying we won't get enough sleep, which keeps our minds awake longer, and calculating, to the minute, the exact amount we could get if we fell into the REM state that second.

I hereby propose an end to all times before the time currently known as "9 a.m." and for this "9 a.m." to be renamed "9 m.f.f.r.r.t." ("mothuhfuckin' fer real realz time").

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Three.

Dear Hatchback Mercedes,

Defeating the purpose?

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Two.

Dear Twister (the board game, not the movie),

I always want to play you most on days I haven't showered.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Ninety-Nine.

Dear Yakety Sax,

Everything...and I mean EVERYTHING...is better with you.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Even a letter as simple and serious as this.
P.P.S. No? Play this in the background while you re-read this letter: http://youtube.com/watch?v=spz8_rpE0e0
P.P.S. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Letter Number Ninety-Eight.

Dear Mythbusters,

Is it okay that you are the ultimate source of scientific information and theory-testing this generation has?

Love,
Kymba

P.S. In the spirit of being glorified pyros...oh, I mean SCIENCE...please continue to blow more things up in the future.

Letter Number Ninety-Seven.

Dear Bladder,

I am sorry for all those times I sacrificed your silent screams in order to:

a. get home faster during a long roadtrip
b. not leave the warm spot of my bed (thereby inducing dreams of running wildly around in search of a toilet)
c. avoid peeing while my friends are on the phone, even friends who do it to me
d. spend more time on the internets

I just get caught up sometimes. Please don't fail on me by forty.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Ninety-Six.

Dear Students Currently Studying For Finals,

In the past year, this is the only thing of consequence I have been obligated to create...


(credit to random livejournal user "fixing" who posted this four bar wonder)

...suckuuuuuuuuhs!

Love,
Kymba

P.S. What? You'll get these bragging rights soon. I'm just perpetuating the nasty cycle of post-college gloating. I didn't invent it; I'm just not helping destroy it.
P.P.S. Negative critique-givers, shuddup. This was my first time using a mouse to make music. One note at a time. Who said Macs are only for lazy artists? Oh, everyone? Damn.

Letter Number Ninety-Five.

Dear People Who Wear Socks With Thong Sandals,

With the exception of people who own those Japanese specialty socks,

EYE CONTACT! HAND! NO! *slaps hand* NO!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Ninety-Four.

Dear One-Ply Toilet Paper,

Make no mistake; I will eradicate you.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. You make my bum sad.

Letter Number Ninety-Three.

Dear Passport,

Thank you for enabling me to get as far away as possible from the government that graciously gave me you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Ninety-Two.

Dear Shows That Retain The Same Opening Sequence Throughout Different Seasons,

You are inherently superior to shows that change their opening sequence.

I can't really explain it; you just are.

Love,
Kymba