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...

Letter Number One-Hundred Seventeen.

Dear Multi-Layer Chip Dips,

You give me hope for the future, because the thing currently feeling at the bottom of it all is always striven for most.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. You make a delicious breakfast.

Letter Number One-Hundred Sixteen.

Dear Jews,

I have tried two days this week to get falafel from the kosher grill, and it's been closed both days. Now, I realize Saturday is your sabbath (my bad), but what is this "Savhout"? Are you just making up holidays now to keep from stuffing my face with delicious, delicious falafel?!

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifteen.

Dear T-Shirt At Target That Says "Think Globally Act Locally",

You were made in Mexico...

...yup.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number One-Hundred Fourteen.

Dear Tia Carrere,

Shaaaaaaaaa-wing.

Love,
Kymba

Guest Letter Wednesdays! Number Nineteen.

Dear Beards,

Hey, baby. Lately I've been thinking about you. I'm ready to take it to the next level, I wanna be pro-beard.

Love,
AnnaMalia

P.S. I'm still jealous that I can't have a big Quaker beard.
P.P.S. I don't want to be a bearded lady, they're just so much more bad ass than Quaker lady buns.

Letter Number One-Hundred Thirteen.

Dear Ruffles Potato Chips,

Each time I tear open a bag of you, I expect the first smell to be the wonderful scent of bar-be-que or fakey onions or cheese. But then I rip you open and am instantly suffocated by a rancid fart smell.

Work on that, will ya?

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Disgruntled employees Dutch Ovening my food...?

Letter Number One-Hundred Twelve.

Dear Planned Obsolescence,

Me Poor.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. Honestly, I no have money to put up with your intentional product mediocrity, attempting to keep me active as a consumer.
P.P.S. So I will listen to "Thong Song" with only the left speaker of my headphones.