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!!!