A Letter to Taiwan President Ma Ying-Jeou

Dear Mr. President,

We would like to comment on how you responded to the recent shooting incident between the Philippines Coast Guard and the late Taiwanese fisherman, Hung Shi-Chen. In our opinion, you didn't act fast enough. As well, granting the Philippines 48 hours to apologize and explain what happened was too long.

You should not have even threatened to send Taiwan's Filipino workers home because it wouldn't help anything. You also should have done more to protect Taiwan's Filipino population from discrimination. It's not their fault.

Lastly, you could have appealed to the world media so that the rest of the world was made aware of what had happened, and so this kind of tragedy doesn't happen again.

Yours sincerely,
Jenny and John
Taipei, Taiwan

A Poetic Customer Service Complaint

Dear Sir,

After your most recent FAILure to wow me with your service, I decided to write a poem about it. If you'd like a more permanent copy, you'll find it in the ladies' restroom, in the second stall. Don't bother trying to wash it off or paint over it. I made sure after penning it with my Sharpie to carve it into the wall with my nail file, for a more lasting impression. I hope as well that it will remain etched in your head so long as your draw breath.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'll never eat at Joe's again
I hope you won't, too

That waiter named Chuck
As handsome as he may be
Has the IQ of a gopher
And he flat out sucks at his job!

My eggs were undercooked
To which Chuck gave a mere "Sorry."
Then microwaved them into rubber
Rather than making my breakfast free

The last time he spilled the coffee
All over new my Gucci bag
And proceeded to insult me
When I called him a blubbering...

So next time I'm going to Denny's
TGI Fridays, Red Robin or Chile's
To that waste of flesh named Chuck
Go suck an egg, you hopeless git!

Truly never again yours,
Rachael

Letter to the Editor

Dear BBC News Editor,

I was born of the slacker generation (Gex X), so I admit to being not the loyalest reader. I spend far too much time on watching reruns of the A-Team and Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, downloading (a lot of) Internet porn, having intellectual discussions until 4 AM about topics such as Who would win in a fight between Chuck Norris high on mushrooms and Mother Teresa with brass knuckles?, whether global warming is real or nothing more than CIA propaganda to make us pay more for bottled water and petroleum products like Old Spice and Quaker Instant Oatmeal, and which Smurf is going to be the one to finally bag Smurfette.

But I do check in from time to time, and I always go to BBC first. You guys always get me to up to speed with what's really going on in the world.

A long time ago, you guys gave me the option of receiving email alerts about things I'm interested in. Well, being one who's pretty out of touch, I opted for Breaking News e-mail alerts. Because, you know, I want to know about that kind of stuff. I have bottled water and instant noodles and lots of C batteries ready, but it won't do much good if I don't know we're being attacked (by whoever or whatever). So, yeah, I want to be on the up and up when something really big goes down. Thank you for making that available.

But I gotta say, someone is playing a joke, and it's far from April 1st. Last week I got an email about a breaking story about some schmuck being sacked. Hell, I don't even know who the guy was. Why would I want my breakfast interrupted for that? And just today, "Prince Philip taken to hospital." I've had that happen to people I care about, so I was concerned enough to open the email. I'm good and sensitive like that (I'm a Gen-Xer, remember?).

But it's over a bladder infection?! Damn, I was afraid the poor git was gonna die, or that he'd have brain cancer or something really bad, like another Bobbitt incident. That's breaking news, guys! But forgetting to pee after he gives it to some servant in the pantry at Buckingham Palace? You guys gotta be kidding me!

And like he wants that to be known to the entire world, much less in real time?!

You guys lost a few points today.

Respectfully yours,
Disappointed

Letter to an annoying tenant: Mr. Earworm

Dear Mr. Earworm,

You might have crept in unknowingly, but I've known about your presence for decades. Yes, I've got your number! Actually, I've enjoyed you as a tenant on many occasions. But something needs to be brought to the table once and for all.

Like my mother used to say when I would become rebellious and irrational: MY HOUSE, MY RULES! Well, sorry to get all authoritarian on you, but enough is enough. It's my body, my ear, my cognition that you're slowly eroding when you become reminiscent of the 80s or go teen pop on me. So no more Lady Gaga. No more Right Said Fred. No more Lionel Richie. No more "Like a Virgin"! No more anything that you don't hear me whistling or singing in the shower.

I know your selection, so I know that you're capable of pleasing. But consider this a warning. Any more of that intolerable noise and I'm going to fish you out with a finely sharpened #2 pencil and feed you to  Freddie. He's just a fledgling piranha, but oh boy does he have an appetite!

Yours Truly,
Brently

A letter to the orange gods (AKA Sunkist)

Dear Sunkist,

Since you're already genetically engineering your oranges so that their exterior glows a bright neon orange, making them seedless, and adding carcinogenic carnauba wax to make them appear more shiny, why not make them easier to eat?

Yesterday I broke a fingernail just trying to get into the fleshy, succulent goodness that your oranges always prove to be. Today, thinking I'd become wiser, I went at it with a paring knife, cutting the orange into quarters. But I still broke a goddamn nail trying to peel it!

While you're at it, doing your genetic manipulation of the orange's outermost layer, how about also removing entirely that annoying pith? After breaking all of my fingernails off as I wait for you to get the ball rolling on genetically enhancing your rockstar oranges, I'll have nothing left but nubs for nails to peel off that pesky white inner skin, which really does nothing but mask the true greatness of the fruit's innermost nectar. And it makes them a lot dryer!

Lastly, while your engineers are hard at work devising the new and improved Sunkist, how about coming up with new lines of oranges? Some, off the top of my head, that I KNOW would be big hits are oranges that help fight off nicotine cravings, oranges with melatonin (what a perfect midnight snack!), oranges that make you invisible, and, of course, oranges with a buttload of super-powerful pheromones. (I want the ladies not to think that I just eat healthily, but also to find me utterly irresistible, like Austin Powers.)

Yours Truly,
Fingernail-less in Seattle

A letter to a nasty mosquito

Dear Miss Stealthy Mosquito,

As much as you like the taste of my warm blood, I need to be able to sleep tonight. Like punching below the belt in boxing, biting my toes is not fucking allowed! I'm used to you making a buffet out of my back, feasting on my legs and arms, even my ultra-sensitive elbows at times. And I willingly accept my fate as just another link in the food chain (an occasional bite snuck in here and there).

But my toes?! This means war! Be warned: I'm going to hunt you down before itching my way to bed and fry you!

May the best man win!

Yours Truly,
Brently

Welcome -- Submissions Wanted

While I can't take credit for this idea, I like it so much that I've decided to attempt starting my own similar page -- letters to anyone. I got the idea from the Futile Letters blog, on which I posted a couple of my own creations and found joy in writing and sharing them. So, here's my go at it.

This idea is a place for letters written to anyone, real or fictitious, known or unknown, even anonymous, to be published and shared with whoever trips across this blog. They can be funny, witty, heartfelt, sad, angry, or even just rants. However, I won't publish anything discriminatory (i.e., ethnic, sexual, or gender discrimination, etc.), so please refrain from sending that sort of material to me.

If you'd like to contribute, please send your letter to me via e-mail, with "Onymous Letters" as the subject. Type or paste your letter, as you want it published, in the body of your mail (no attachments). Any additional information you want added at the bottom -- a short bio, for example -- please include within the body of your message as well. All submissions and inquiries should be sent to stewart_brently@yahoo.com.

Let the fun begin!

A Letter to the Pilgrims

Dear Pilgrim,

Today is for many a favorite time of the year. People in the United States are gathering with friends and loved ones to share in comaraderie, food and drink. Today they celebrate a bloody holiday that has for too long been a tribute to you.

What troubles me so much about this is not the gaiety and shared quality time with loved ones, but that so few are willing to recognize the truth behind the story of Thanksgiving. I'm all for giving thanks and being grateful for the countless blessings that my life has been filled with. But I can't sit comfortably praising a bunch of racist, sword-wielding murderers who take false credit for this day.

While the bones of those innocent natives lie rotting alongside your ivory monuments, and people give thanks for all the blessings that you made possible for generations of stubbornly ignorant Americans, there are a few more enlightened folks who turn our heads and spit on your graves.

I do have so much to be thankful for today, yet what I ask most for is forgiveness for the atrocities that my ancestors committed against those peoples who rightfully deserve the blessings of this Thanksgiving Day.

In shame,
Brently

A Letter to Miranda

Dear Miranda,

As your best friend, I have to fill you in on something. You're always complaining about how guys gawk at you, how you can't even walk down the street without strange men making lewd comments and staring at you lustfully. I gotta agree though...men can sometimes be real pigs.

But what you haven't thought about is how your gym pants have JUICY written across your plump little ass. Yes, girlfriend, you do "got it goin' on." But you also need to realize that wearing provocative clothing is an invitation for all the creeps to come out of their shells and slobber when you're strutting past them in your "slut gear" (as you jokingly call it).

If you don't want people staring at your butt, making references to peaches when they're walking behind you, maybe you should think twice about the messages you're giving when you choose clothing that screams "Hey, check out my ass!"

Always,
Gloria

A Letter to the Ents

Dear Treebeard,

How ya doing, old buddy? I want to say thanks first off for the help you lent to Merry and Pippin, and in the wonderful disaster you caused for that nasty old grinch, Saruman. I'd be willing to bet that those jolly little "hobbitses" have written a few songs about you and your comrades. I'm sure that makes you all very proud.

A buddy of mine likes trees, and he's a "recycling nazi." So I jokingly call him "tree hugger" when he gets fanatic about people throwing recyclables into the trash. But this makes me wonder about something. Do you like hugs? Granted, you might crush me to dust if you tried hugging me. Can I hug you, though?

I bet you enjoy birds nesting on your limbs, humming along with their joyful singing. And the squirrels -- you gotta love the squirrels! The bears, rubbing their backs against you to cure that itch, must be a soft, furry delight, huh? But why do you Ents let the dogs pee on your feet?

Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. Sorry I haven't written in a while.
Brently Baggins

P.S. I composed this on a computer, by the way, so that you'd be willing to read it. (I remember the first time how you scolded me about using paper.) Take care, old friend.

A Letter to the Phone Solicitor

Dear Annoying Solicitor,

I don't have the heart to be rude to you, even if I feel you are invading my privacy. I'm not going to yell at you or speak insults when you ignore me and continue your endless chatter either. But I certainly don't want even to pretend that I understand your mile-a-minute Chinese fluttering in my ear.

So while you holler "Wei, wei..." I'm going to respond with "Hello, hello...can you speak English?" really fast -- making your head spin, your blood pressure rise -- until YOU hang up (and, hopefully, resolve never to call this number again).

I know you're only doing your job, but this is my privacy you're treading on. If I want something, I'll go buy it myself. I don't want your spiel, so you needn't call me anymore.

Thanks for your understanding. ;)
Brently