I would like to reserve your services for next Thursday if you are available. I need to move out of my three bedroom apartment into a one bedroom apartment on the western part of town. The reason for my move is personal, but needless to say, I am no longer welcome at such an expensive and rent hungry living space. The years of collecting less than specific objects will surely make this move a challenge. Also making this move a challenge will be my laziness. I’m not a go-getter and the concept of finding boxes, let alone PACKING boxes, gives me the shakes.

What I have done to this point is to organize the apartment into three distinct object types:
1) Breakable
2) Breakable by excessive force
3) Flammable

Some things aren’t easily categorized and the flammable pile really could include anything. An aquarium full of fish doesn’t have the risk of spontaneously combustion, but gasoline increases the likelihood of fire and that puts the aquarium firmly in the flammable pile. I suppose I could sub-divide this pile to make things more clear, but I don’t think having 75 piles makes your job any easier.

The trickiest piece I have is a ball of used car batteries that I have been strapping together for many years. I’ve thought about taking it apart since it’s certainly wider than any doorway in the house (go me!), but will wait until the professionals can asses. I’ve worked for many years to build this piece and I’d hate to take it apart if something as simple as removing the roof can be accomplished. Also, to give this ball further context, it’s so heavy that the floor is buckling (again, go me!).

Just so I’m prepared, what do the people who will be helping me move like for lunch – I insist. I currently have several types of Ramen noodles, but they are all variations on shrimp. If anyone on your staff is allergic to shrimp, please let me know so I can avoid that embarrassment and stick to offering glasses of water.

One other issue that I will try to resolve by Thursday is that I will try and locate my new apartment’s address. I remember it had a distinct downhill feel to it and remember several trees…and a turn, but without the exact address, I’m afraid moving may be difficult if not impossible. If, for some reason, someone on your staff is able to figure out my apartment based on the information I’ve provided (one bedroom, downhill, trees, turn(s)), let me know as it will save me considerable hassle.

Also, on further review, what looks like a mouse has gotten into the Ramen noodles so I’ll be providing broth of different shrimp varieties. I hope this is acceptable.

If there is other information you would need in order to make my move run smoothly or if you need me to organize my piles in a different way (I would certainly consider putting everything in an alphabetical row – from “After shave samples” to “Zebra samples”).

Sincerely,

Frank Furstein

The other day, you were walking with your dad, dragging your razor scooter behind you when the B61 bus passed you by, I believe your exact words were, “The B61 bus? Now I’ve seen everything.”

I couldn’t help but notice that you are, what, no older than 8? You are putting a stake in the ground at this moment as when you officially had nothing else in life to see? Does that mean we can cancel your cable, shut down your wifi and book your honeymoon in advance to “who gives a shit wherever, USA?!”

Didn’t think so. In fact, I can think of hundreds of things that you personally haven’t witnessed that you’re missing out on. Here are just a couple for you to review while you sit on your throne of whatever they make gold out of for spoiled brats like you.

The disappointment of the lack of the touch of a woman:
Sure, mommy feels nice. Mailman lady? Whatever, you hug her too. But as you get older, you find yourself having to deserve hugs and can’t just get them from any old nowhere. You will start to feel this when you’re in your twenties and discover the wonderful world of hugging your friends hello and good-bye. Then in your later 40s you’ll just casually wave from your chair as they leave and wonder if that means you don’t have to see those people for another few months. By the time you’re 60+, you will be lucky to hug a woman once every 15 years and when you DO hug them…prepared to hear them say, “ewww” under their breath.

The lack of care for a pet’s life:
How much would I have to pay you right now to kill your dog? $1 million?! $10 million!?! What if I promised I could bring back dinosaurs and they’d be your best friends? Don’t bother answering that one because I know your answer is no. You love your dog and can’t imagine a day without it. Well, you will. Someday you will be cleaning up after a pet, a member of the family as your stupid kids say, and wonder how far you would have to drive that dog into the woods for it to never find its way back. Here’s a spoiler alert – they always come back. However, one day, that dog is going to die and it will rank behind a traffic ticket in terms of importance to you.

An expanded vocabulary:
Do you know what Victorian is? How about, furnished basement? Any chance you use the phrase, “miles per gallon” in the sand box? Oh, you’re going to know what a rotator cuff is because it hurts, what a cufflink is because you lost one, that carpe diem is Latin for “you’re wasting your f’n life,” that delicate cycle is another word for an extra load you have to run, that a sconce is something that makes light expensive, that seltzer is the closest thing you to soda you can enjoy and that most of your life is spent making sure you have your keys on you at all times.

Cubicle coloring
You know how your mom yells at you to put on sun screen before you go out and how you hate that? Well, don’t put on sunscreen because it’s all the sun you’re going to get in your life. Once you hit the working world, your skin takes on this yellow color that looks like a bowl of instant oatmeal spilled out into a puddle of snot. That’s because, where you’re headed – the working world – there is no sun. You’ll have florescent lights – which were named that because it sounds magical and is better than the more accurate, “cheap lights.” Don’t use bathrooms that have good lighting or else you’ll find yourself staring at your hideous face for hours on end wondering if it’s going to crumble right in front of you.

All this is on your horizon. You haven’t seen nothing yet. There will be other busses on ever street and one day, deep into the distance, you’ll find yourself riding one you’ve never been on before because you went out of your way to follow a kid and his dad home just so you could find out his address and write him a letter.

Warmest Regards,
Tom Mausch

I am writing to you on an uncharacteristically beautiful day to inquire about the process for having languages listed within the official registrar of official linguistics. More specifically, I’d like to confirm that there is such a thing and get some basic information for having languages added (which I’d assume requires a form of some sort).

A little context for this request…

I’m a recent divorcee, or, perhaps more accurately, I’m a recent victim of divorce. My wife of 6 years served me with divorce papers by slipping them under the bathroom door one Sunday morning and shouted through the door that she’d be at her sisters for the next few weeks. I loved my wife very much and would have certainly run after her, so her waiting for me to be indisposed was an impressive tactic.

I do not need to get into the specifics about where our marital troubles began or how they developed over the course of our relationship, but two issues that continued to pop up in various forms were my inability to accomplish anything and my fondness for speaking in baby talk.

At first, my care-free, “We can do that tomorrow,” attitude was great and we would lay around the floor of my one-bedroom apartment and enjoy pointing out blemishes in the ceiling. She’d point to an old water stain and say it looked like a cat’s eye and I would say something like, “Prwetty Kiddy.” We would laugh. We would embrace and I’d fall asleep in her arms.

Somewhere along the way the qualities that caused her to fall in love with me became the symbol of all the things she despised. She would nag me about quitting a simple job like mowing the lawn ½ way through and not even curl a corner of her lip towards a smile when I’d say, “Tha wawn mowah will just wun awah gas eventuawy.”

What was I supposed to do? I don’t have a deep vocabulary. My four years of French produced 3 Ds and a plagiarized paper about how to buy eggs from a farmer. How is someone like me supposed to be impressive to a wife who makes everything she says sound as if it were a poem coming from a Deity’s tear of joy? When she first told me she loved me, she basically sung it in a four part harmony. How could I give her anything less than, “Me wawwa huggsies you”??

Obviously, having baby talk added to an official list of some sort would validate what she considered to be a sign of stilted emotional growth. However, it’s more than just an attempt to show my ex-wife her errors. I also seek out this official status because I want her to know that I never meant to make fun of her mother.

My former mother in-law was an incredibly smart and interesting woman. I do not say this as hyperbole when I say she was a favorable house guest. Unfortunately, due to an unfortunate accident where a neighbor’s dog mistook my mom in-law’s tongue for its liver treat, she lost a small portion of said tongue.

Martha was gracious and graceful through the recovery, but her speech suffers even now to the point that most of what she says sounds surprisingly similar to what my former wife despised as my baby talk. A coincidence? Validation? I can’t say. What I can say is that I took this as an invitation to remind my wife of the adorable nature of baby talk while relieving her mother of the embarrassment of ordering dinner rolls as, “weiner wolls.”

But was my sensitivity, empathy and willingness to put myself on the line rewarded? Hardly. In fact, my wife insisted my actions came across as mocking. How could I be mocking this situation? If ordering a bottle of red wine as, “Nummy montepushkeyonto in a biggie cup,” is somehow insensitive to Martha’s speech pattern, then I’d be the first to apologize. If asking the waiter if the Salmon comes with, “chichen fingeys or mushed pahtayties,” somehow became an unacceptable way for a person to talk than I am sorry.

There is, however, no real remorse in these words and I hope you understand why I would like to have baby talk added to a list of official languages spoken. No need to send a certificate or any official looking letter. I have plenty of such notifications framed and ready to be hung around my office.

Sincerely,

Connor Stritskin

Thank you for reaching out to the Endowment of Natural Health (ENH). We enjoyed reading your request for funding. As you know, the Endowment of Natural Health receives hundreds of such requests every quarter so we are very diligent in assessing the value of each application. We are committed to awarding funding to those that have the most viable opportunities to effect the greatest change in a sustainable and profitable manner for the near and long term future.

We had a few questions about your submitted application. First off, it appears you have filled out all 27 pages of the application using egg yolk instead of a pen. This not only made it very difficult to read, but also has left a fairly unmistakable aroma. We have suspected this choice was intentional and somehow falls in line with the rest of your proposal. Helping us understanding this connection would be key to you getting funding.

Please do not take what I am about to say as overly critical, but your proposal was a bit confusing. The majority of your executive summary appeared to be a general critique of a man of Chinese decent who works at the local Rite Aid. While the evaluation committee thought this might be political, it did seem to bend towards a personal vendetta with a specific person at Rite Aid. Needless to say, this was something we decided not to consider as we believe it may be more sophisticated than we were able to process. However, the part that was clear was under the section of “Business Description” you wrote:

“Sexy, like an owl.”

By clear, of course, I mean that it’s clear you do not know what we were asking for when we required a business description. Other applicants have simply described their business (i.e. how they plan to operate and make money). Also, under, “Revenue Stream” you wrote, “river” and under, “Capital” you wrote, “river.”

I do not mean to come across as closed-minded, as I loved the picture of the children eating those sandwiches where the meat had been replaced by assault weapons. I just do not know if the information you provided warrants funding from the ENH. If you could provide more information on the following, we might be able to approve your application:

-          What qualifications do you have to run a business?

The items you listed appear to be the pieces for a Monopoly game, although I’m pretty sure there is not a “Twitchet Stick” in the current edition.

-          Who will be your core consumer?

You appeared to answer this one quite directly, but I’d ask for you reconsider your answer as, “Suckers and Latinos” does not qualify for funding.

-          What differentiates your business from others currently in the marketplace?

Again, I loved the picture you drew of Godzilla wearing a rasta hat made of different strands of pasta (yes, we got it…a rasta pasta hat), but nothing about that gives the committee confidence towards your competitive advantage.

If you are able to get back to me within the next few days, I would greatly appreciate it as our first attempt to acquire this information resulted in a brick through our window with a question mark and your home address. Please refrain from other forms of vandalism. We took the costs for repair out of the grant we have already slated for your business endeavor.

Best,

Harry Schrindle
President of Grant Applications, ENH

A series of letters from somewhere, someone or nowhere at all. 

Dear Craig,

Thanks for taking the time to read this letter. I can assure it is considerably shorter than the previous one I sent earlier this week. I got carried away.

I wanted to reach out again so I could be included in your “list” as a professional dater. I received the terms of use agreement about prostitution you sent before, but I think there’s a misunderstanding. I do not have sex with people for money. For a fee, I deliver one hell of a date.

Some dates do involve a level of affection, but I can assure that is not part of my offering. I deplore affection. My mother used to tell me I used to hold in my bowel movements for days on end just so people didn’t have to touch me while changing my diaper. What I offer is a level of dating that is worth every penny.

How confident am I in my abilities? How confident are you that you know what love is? I’m engaging, I listen, I’m sensitive, but I’m not afraid to be strong. I’m funny – not ha ha funny, but more like a sleepy Garrison Keillor or funny – and best of all, I’m not going to run off to be with another woman while you’re in the bathroom. No, I’ll be right here when you get back. How will I entertain myself while you’re gone, you ask? Maybe I’ll think of new questions to ask you. Maybe I’ll put some turtle pheromones in your water. Maybe I’ll hold my breath until I almost pass out so that when you come back you ask, “What’s wrong?” There’s nothing wrong and we just started a conversation without you realizing it.

Most people don’t even know what a good date is. I myself thought dates were meant to be concise information sessions where each person took turns divulging information about each other. “Blah blah me. Blah blah boring…now you talk!” Bleck! How contrived! Dates are about a journey into the sub-conscious. They’re about being challenged and leaving the meal wondering if you’ve had it wrong this whole time.

One of the things I like to do is to ask people, “If you were a superhero, which one would you be and why?” Chances are they’ll say they’d like to fly or be Superman, an X-Man or a Spiderman. The reason this question is so interesting is because it’s a great opportunity to find out how people react when they are wrong about something. “WRONG!” I’ll yell, “Superheros aren’t real, STUPID!”  

Now I have your attention. Shall we talk about spiders? Statistically you’ve eaten one in the past three months.

“What does your mother do for a living?” Simple questions keep the conversation from dragging. “How much does she get paid?” Just rolls off the tongue and there’s no awkward silence. “That’s a lot of money for a woman.” Not even a second thought crosses my mind as I signal to the waiter that we’d like some more dinner rolls instead of desert – “What’s that you say, never been with a man who is confident in himself enough to ask for a fourth helping of dinner roles?” 
How am I not surprised.

As you can see, I’m worth the fee I require and I’d like to be allowed to post my services on your list without being accused of being some mischievous sex profiteer. If you need further proof of my credentials, I’d be happy to go out with you or your wife sometime at a reduce rate. 100% satisfaction guaranteed or the next date is 15% off!

Sincerely,

Brad Benning