Dear the person who thought putting herbs in sausages was a good idea
I really REALLY hate you. You B*stard.

Regards,

Me
(xerophytic has no idea, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 12:55, 20 replies)

No title.
I could write many a letter but I won't. Most people in my life know how much or how little they mean to me. That's the way I am now. I learnt the lesson long ago not to leave things unsaid or unwritten. Life is too short and valuable for reticence and the stiff upper lip. I sometimes get in trouble for being too open but I don't give a shit. However, there is one letter........

Dear God,

Wake up and sort things out you lazy fuck!
With great power comes great responsibility and you are not cutting it.

Yours Hopefully,

Porky.

PS Gisasign?
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Mon 8 Mar 2010, 12:40, 5 replies)

Dear Uncle James
Well, it's been 20 years now since your crash. I've had a copy of this letter, or something approximating it on my computer for the last 10 years.

Firstly, to help you catch up. If you don't know, you had a girl called Samantha. She was a beautiful baby, and has grown into a beautiful, intelligent and incredibly mischevous young lady. I wonder where she got THAT from! Luckily she didn't inherit your bushy moustache or lack of hair. Alison remarried 10 years ago now. She met a man called John, and they have a little lad called James, after you. John loves them all so much, and I know will take good care of them.

I'm now grown up (well, sort of!) and in a proper job as a paramedic. I love it. I'm married to a great guy called Mike, and we've even managed to bring Mum round into accepting him....I know, surprise of the century.

I can say without candour or guilt that you were always my favourite uncle. You made a little boy feel extremely special without spoiling me, and never humilitated or patronised me. You and I had a special friendship (*authors note: not in that way you sick fucks*) and it meant a lot to me to know that my amazing, high flying, big earning uncle had time for a snot-nosed little bugger like me, which is why I wanted you to be my Godfather.

To lay my soul bare, I didn't cry when you died. Not initially. I was old enough to understand, but I do not think I was old enough to empathise fully. I was shocked, yes. It was only in later times that I have cried for your death and raged against its unfairness. Like it's going to help! Trying to find meaning from such a meaningless death is like trying to untangle a ball of wool. It took me so long to work out that there was no meaning, but there were good lessons to have learned from it. Lawss have been changed, and made, following your death. I have grown stronger and, although not immediately, I have learned better how to deal with grief and bereavement. It has helped me empathise with those who have lost their own loved ones. Was it your time? No. Was it fair? No. But it still happened.

I sincerely hope and pray that one day, we meet again. Until that day, you will always have my sincerest and deepest love and respect.

Love,

Dave
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Mon 8 Mar 2010, 12:20, Reply)

Dear Shane
Yes, we did notice that you got away without paying for your meal on Friday night. The extra money put down was supposed to be a tip for the waiter - not for you to have (yet another) free meal.

We also notice when you slip a fiver in when we all have a takeaway instead of the 20 that everyone else puts in, despite you, as usual having more food than anyone else.

Yes, I did remember that when I bought all that stuff back from the US for you - with receipts - that I only got the dollar amount back in pounds. When it says "100 dollars" I was expecting 50 quid (this was when it was pretty much 2/1)- NOT 25 - it's not that way around!

You moaned at me for not bringing you more stuff back this time - can you imagine why I didn't?

You may think that we're stupid for not noticing, but we do. We just didn't want our night ruined again by bringing it up and you getting in a mood after being asked to pay your own way.

You may notice the invites are starting to drop off a little perhaps?

Maybe you can work out why.

There's a fine line between being tight-fisted, and ripping your mates off.

You have crossed it.

Yours,

Pretty much all of us who have ever been out in a restaraunt or had a takeaway with you.
(dchurch bah, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 12:03, 23 replies)

Dear Nick,
A mate I may be, but that does not negate my status as guest, and thus yours as host.

As such, my demand that you go and make me a cup of tea still stands, and you must oblige me, both legally and morally.

So get to it - this J won't roll itself.

Sincerely,

A V.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 11:56, 1 reply)

Well my final one for this week. A serious one to make it even.
Dear Parents,

We are not a demonstrative family. We do not hug or share our feelings, and we are very English in the way we relate to each other. So this letter is where I can thank you. Thank you mum for looking after me when I was ill. You went through what no parent should have to, the idea that your child was going to die before you. I know you fought for me. Even when I was on that edge I knew that you fought others for me. The nurses who abused, the physios who bullied, the doctors who threatened were warned off by you. You kicked the ward sisters door when she wouldn't respond to your letters and complaints and forced her to realise my care was unacceptable. You read books to me for hours, biographies of Patrick O Brian, science fiction, and Japanese surrealism, and insisted on holding my hand through every painful medical procedure, every lumbar puncture and all the rest.

Dad you did the same, you cut and polished my nails when the nurses weren't allowed, you devised a way for me to communicate, you went out and bought me boxset after boxset of DVDs to amuse me- CSI:NY, The Mighty Boosh, Bruce Lee films. You were the first one to realise that I could no longer see properly and to alert a nurse. You remembered that I only read the Times, and to buy me a copy of Private Eye for every one I missed.

I do remember that time, though sometimes I pretend I've forgotten. I found the diary you kept mum, during that time, and I read the love that every entry had been written with. I read that if I had died, you think you would have gone mad. And everything that had ever been wrong with our family was fixed then. Every harsh word spoken, every action we'd hurt each other with, was forgiven and forgotten in the knowledge that you both genuinely loved me, that there was no-one in the world who cared for me as much as you both did. So thank you for that. Because I still reckon that it's due to you two that I am fully recovered and well, far more than it is due to the medical profession.

Also Dad on a seperate note thank you for not laughing at me making such an arse of myself a couple of weeks ago. It meant more than I can say, that you hugged me and told me it wasn't my fault, and that you would fix it. Also that you promised not to tell mum!

With all my love

Amberl

P.S. I'd tell you this to your face, but you know me. I'd freeze up, and mumble something stiffly about feeling very grateful, and the impact would be entirely lost. So I hope I show my gratitude and love in the way I act, rather than in what I say


And //shuffles feet// thanks to a particular b3tan as well for some very pertinent help. I don't think I could have written the letter above, as much as a week ago. So cheers for that
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 11:52, 7 replies)

Dear Mr Cakelady
Thank you for being completely awesome. You fill me with sunshine every day.

Love,
Mrs Cakelady.
( cakelady, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 11:21, 6 replies)

Dear libido.
Where the fuck where you twenty years ago? I don't want the raging horn now, I want to eat biscuits in bed while looking at paint charts and deciding what colour to paint the hallway, not the latest Bravissimo catalogue picking out frilly underwear. Don't you think being middle-aged is hard enough without having to find someone to placate you.

I just want to be left alone to grow old and the idea of elasticated pants are getting more favorable each day but no-one ever got lucky wearing elasticated pants did they.

I've had a good innings, had some fun and can cross a few things off my naughty list so please just go now before I place that order with Bravissimo, Honeylicious etc.

Bye now! It's been a blast.

Love Blousie

Edit - And if I drink red wine it is definitely NOT an open invitation for you to come back for the evening.
( girlinthehole, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 11:04, Reply)

Time for a display of autistic temperament
To Ms J Shaw Taylor,

I'm sure this letter reaches you at a time when you are particularly busy, what with you touring America after the success of your debut album (with which I am thoroughly impressed, it's absolutely superb). I would also hazard a guess that if I were simply to write to you offering my undying love (read: my penis) then I would not be the first to do so. I therefore write to you with an offer that is not my penis.

I'd like to buy you a pub. I realise this is a strange offer, but allow me to explain.

You see, you're already quite special. You could have just learnt to play a half-decent rhythm guitar, joined a band and been 'that cute girl on guitar' who provides some on-stage eye candy and draws lots of enamoured fans, but is otherwise unremarkable as a musician (cf Charlotte Hatherley, Hilary Woods). But no, you went one better and mastered the guitar properly, so not only are you a very attractive blonde lady, but you play the guitar like Stevie Ray fucking Vaughan. You play blues (one of my favourite genres), you play it better than I could ever hope to, and you're great to look at.

I was disappointed that I missed your last gig in London - none of my friends seemed interested. This might have been for the best as if they weren't there to hold me back, chances are I'd have been all over you like weapons-grade herpes.

So I thought: how can I make you more perfect than you already are? That was when I realised that you had already ticked two of the boxes that were the criteria for 'ultimate male fantasy.' I feel if you also owned a pub then that would tick the third box.

Alternatively, if you ever need a new bass player, a harmonica player or just someone who would happily stand just off the side of the stage each night and gaze at you lovingly, don't hesitate to get in touch.

Regards,

PS I categorically do not have my cock in my other hand as I write this.
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 10:18, 2 replies)

Dear manufacturers of Cillit Bang
I excitedly bought your product last week after seeing the tv advert, and I must say I was grossly disappointed when it failed to live up to expectations. I’m certain I’ve been applying it correctly, but to no avail. If there are any further instructions for use that aren’t already present on the bottle could you please forward them on to me.


Regards

Miss D Slexia
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 10:03, 2 replies)

Dear SLVA
Stop reading B3ta and ring the council up to collect that mattress and dismantled wardrobe from the front garden. Call HMRC about your late tax-return and then chase Comet up about the dodgy thermocouple in the cooker.

Then go prep the woodwork in the kids' bedroom so you can gloss it later.

Regards
Myself

ps. you can finish your cup of tea first.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 10:02, 5 replies)

Dear Matt Groening
Call it a day for fuck's sake.

Regards
etc
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 9:59, 5 replies)

Inspired by Jecius' post
Dear Ex-Boss,

After 7 years of working as xxxxxx, and quite genuinely saving/making quite a lot of money for the firm (despite being a non-profit firm) and by doing so, keeping many of us in jobs, your arrival there took a few of us by suprise. However, if the powers-that-be there decided they needed a new IT manager, then so be it.

However, I feel I should explain what the word manager means - or in fact, what it doesn't mean.

It doesn't mean berating ideas that would have saved the firm money or ideas that would have bought in money - simply because you don't understand them.
It doesn't mean that you will be well liked by people for making jokes about me behind my back about my 'fanciful fairy-tale ideas' (like using FTP or using the WWW to allow customers access to their accounts - admittedly, this was 1999-2000 but it was hardly a huge leap of the imagination even then was it?) when you think other managers (most of whom were aware of the huge sums of cash I'd made the firm over the years, and were (and a few still are) indeed, friends of mine.

It doesn't mean stopping any future pay rises/bonus payments for me (and 2 others from a team of over 40), because you are threatened by what we can do - using the excuse that 3 years before you joined I was seriously ill and had 12 days off of work through it. Yes, three years before you even joined the company. You even admitted that you knew that in the previous and subsiquent years I had taken no days off at all - not even my allowed holiday quota due to being stupidly busy. I'm hardly a serial sickie-taker am I?

It doesn't mean berating me because I was the only one willing to visit other offices pretty much anywhere in the world at a moments notice to get things done, then to come back and have reduced pay because "I wasn't clocked in through the clock in the main office". How.the.Hell.could.I.Be? I was 5000 bloody miles away in our Chicago office sorting out yet another of your cock ups, two weeks after the arrive of my fist child, you petty idiot.

That one just made you look extremely foolish and petty in front of the whole firm - I wouldn't be suprised if they still talk about it now, 10 years later.

Still, after not very much of your childish behavior I decided to leave - only to have you try to force three months notice on me. I hope you enjoyed turning up at the meeting room 70 miles away for my 'exit interview' to find me not there - I was sort of toasting you in the pub round the corner from our main office with, yep, the Bus. Dev. Manager you so freely slagged me off to regularly.

It's funny though, don't you think, that less than 6 weeks after I left there, you were escorted from the building by security guards.

I'm sure that had nothing to do with the sharp drop in profits from the customers that I had cultivated and pandered to etc... I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that, having checked out your previous record of employment, that nearly everywhere you had 'moved on' from, had actually gone bust.

Seriously, for your sake and others, choose another career - management isn't for you. Especially IT Management. You're not good with people, and you sure as hell aren't good with technology (case in point, I had to explain what an FTP server was to you when you neeed to transfer huge documents - reader: His decision was that FTP was too new a technology to trust (60's??), and duly printed off about 40,000 pages of info, boxed it up and couriered it to our client in the US!).

Good luck in that gutter - you should have remembered that the branches you step on on the way up, are the branches you hit on the way down.

Your friend, that director you got the job through, described you as 'World Class' - he forgot the "Mistachioed Idiot" on the end. Still, oddly, he went the other way as well. If you're going to commit fraud, at least have the intelligence to cover up your tracks.

Seriously, you should consider a career in McDonalds - IT, Managment and Crime you simply don't have the brains for.
(dchurch bah, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 9:34, 3 replies)

Dear Ex Boss
You were the slimiest self-centred cunt I've ever had the misfortune to work for. I hate your very being, the fact that you still are out there doing "your thing" and squirming after everything you can get from people while protecting your own ass. But I actually want to thank you.

For the 4 years of my employment with you I come to discover the realities of life; there will always be people like you out there, trying to make a name for themselves by using and abusing others. Unfortunately we will come into contact at some point with your type, and rather than as before where I was taken advantage of and used as a target scapegoat I am now able to deal with the likes of you. The damage you caused me with your threats, attempted fraud and accusations can no longer hurt me.

It's been 10 long years since I finished working with you, but I will still see everyday things that will remind me of you. Initially I was full of pain from from the reminders, but instead I vowed NEVER TO LET SOMEONE LIKE YOU HURT ME AGAIN. I turned my anger into focus and am now married with child, working relatively happy in a secure job and sorting my own problems one at a time. One thing I am not though, is worthless, which is what you made me feel when you set me up.

I hope you die slowly you son of a bitch.

PS Oh if anyone's wondering the cunt set me up for mass theft, spread rumours about me trying to stop me getting other jobs and made sickening phonecalls to my family. Seriously, if this guy ever comes into contact with my child (as he's the type to try) I will beat him to within an inch of his worthless life.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 9:03, 1 reply)

Dear Radio DJ
Please just SHUT THE FUCK UP and play some (a variety in fact of) music






I said please...

If they were IQ tested we wouldn't have to endure them anyway
(schrodingers cat now you see me, or not, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 5:54, 7 replies)

Dear Mr Hall,
How about next time we both get mustaches?
Regards
Mr Oates
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 3:22, Reply)

Dear Cunt I'm forced to work with
Where to start? Yes, it was me, I warned a friend about you, because she's a friend and you are just some prick who I share a mutual dislike with. I don't owe you anything at all, least of all any 'loyalty'. And please don't give it any of that 'bro's before ho's' bullshit either, we are both over 35 you fucking childish retard, grow the fuck up. And stop wearning your old university sweaters, you are not in college anymore you bell-end, grow the fuck up.
That said, I did not speak to our boss about your utter lack of professionalism or the fact that you are the most lazy and insincere person I have ever met in my life. Perhaps its the fact that our entire workplace has GLASS FUCKING WALLS you moron and everyone can see your substandard behaviour and work as clear as day has something to do with it. That and the fact that students have made their own complaints about you. It's also pretty obvious that it was you making the overtures to the married student of ours that lead her husband to make a complaint.
And for fucks sake stop leching over the schoolgirls.
yours sincerely (you might have to look that word up)
(Ol' Ginger Bastard a role model for the children, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 3:07, Reply)

Dear everyone at work.
Please stop 'helping'. Please stop 'tidying'. Please shut the fuck up about hip replacements or holidays in Portugal. Please stop hovering over my shoulder, reading my mails. In short, please fuck off so I can actually do my job.

That is all.

EDIT: And stop getting locked in places and phoning the police. Or me. Just try not to get locked in. It isn't rocket surgery.
( TheSundaeLunch I'm a fucking shrub, alright?, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 1:20, 8 replies)

Dear hot surfer man
who invited me to his party at on Saturday night. I don't usually drink that much or go to bed with someone the first time I properly meet them, but you make me nervous and I drank more wine than is sensible because of it which in turn led to a pants-off situation.

I wish I had drank less because you quite probably will see me as a wee trollop (esp. cos I am 11 years younger than you) and will not call. You are just SUCH a hottie, I wish there was more in the spank bank to keep me going until the next fitty mcfitman comes along, but alas my brain is a haze and all I am left with is a tease of what happened, a broken dress and the knowledge that I snored very loudly in your bed.

One night stands are depressing and even worse when you wake up and realise what you really wanted was a little bit more. Damn all that fine wine!
( bland is bland, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 1:19, 1 reply)

Dear invisible ink manufacturers.


































Signed:
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 1:08, 1 reply)

Dear Beta,
Please take note of our complaints and choose decent QOTW subjects.

Regards,

G
(British Steel was participating in awesomeness on, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 1:05, 9 replies)

Hm
Dear campaigners for positions in the student union,

No, I will not be voting for any of you. These are some of the reasons:

1. Catchy slogans and bright colours do not make for a good campaign (this applies to real world politicians too).
2. You all have the exact same ideas which won't be implemented anyway, because they're stupid.
3. You push the boundaries of irritation to almost superhuman levels.
4. You may be able to spend time on this because your arts degree takes up only 5 hours a week or so, but I have not that luxury, and I am rather determined to not fail.

Is that all clear?

Regards,
(Anachronist misplaced in time since, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 0:38, 4 replies)

Captain Stupid
Dear B

Every day I come into work to listen to you harp on about your wife who has *finally* left your sorry arse.

You are completely in the wrong, you are an utter fucktard and no-one can believe she stayed as long as she did.

And stop telling every * single * person who walks into our office

No One Cares

ps if that ass clown who corrects my grammar tells me I'm an emo that needs an education and belittles everyone else on b3ta replies to this - EVERYONE HATES YOU especially jesus.
(how did I make it past childhood, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 0:35, Reply)

To a former student, 10 years younger than me
Dear D,

It's nice to see you married again and happy this go-around. I'm glad it is working out for you this time. I am also glad you are over the heavy drinking and depression from Army boot camp that made you write Glenn Close/Fatal Attraction-type of scary letters about how you felt about me. And I am happy for you that you don't recall any of it, as it would make you embarassed and ashamed.

It's nice that we're friends again, but to be honest, I googled you and looked you up on Facebook for two reasons: 1) to see if you were still making a mess of your life like when we last spoke and 2) because I am lonely since being widowed and needed an ego boost in my depression.

It's flattering that you still retain remnants of a crush on me after almost 20 years. I really needed that in my life given the type of women I meet now, and I hope you have enough sense not to let it affect your relationship with your husband, who cared enough to adopt the daughter you had with the bum you married before him and after you confessed your "love" for me. I won't take advantage of you now, just as I didn't before. It's not right for many reasons, some of them new. And I am glad you feel good because you know I still care about you as I did when I was a substitute teacher at your high school.

I will tell you it never would have worked out, despite the fact you always wanted it to. I really did always watch out for you because you reminded me of myself at your age -- and still do -- and I wanted to protect and guide you as I wish someone had for me. I am flattered you thought I was worldly and still think I look dashing in a suit, despite my current baldness and belly. You're still an absolute cutie, even with the weight your second pregnancy left you with. And we can say that to each other as friends who like to bolster each other's feelings.

What I won't tell you is that you did have a chance with me romantically, just not the time you thought. It wasn't when you came home from boot camp for Christmas and I from graduate school. I didn't want a long-distance romance, and you were chasing guys and being squirrely, looking for approval from anyone and everyone. And suddenly checking me for tonsils with your tongue wasn't the way to win the attention of my affections. It only reminded me of the difference in our ages.

The one time you did stand a chance with me was the time you never showed up. It was my going away party before grad school (and before your boot camp), and I was drunk and feeling alone knowing that so many of my friends had already left or were also leaving, and that this part of my life was well over. There would be no more group gatherings like that.

Even if I'd been sober, I would have leaned on you that day. And it wouldn't have been simply because you were available and willing. There were attractive women at the party that were such, but I was looking for a connection, and I knew I really did and do care for you. And I wanted to continue having you in my life and wanted to talk you out of what I knew would be a disastrous attempt at being a soldier. I would have tried to get you to come to grad school with me, which would have been just as big a disaster as the Army because you are not an intellectual, and I -- like so many at grad school -- was.

So it's probably good that you forgot about the party and there won't ever be another chance.

And I'm not sure whether that's for the best, but I think in the long run it is.

I wish you luck and look forward to meeting your family, even if your husband and kids call me Mr. W---, as you still do (that's just weird). Such little things warm my heart these days.

Your friend,
Mr. W---

(yes, I wrote about this before. That QOTW answer is in my profile)
(ChiTown Guy Dating when 35+: sane, single, attractive - pick 2, Sun 7 Mar 2010, 23:58, 2 replies)

Dear Qats
I'M EATING BACON!!!
YES!!!
BACON!
YOU'RE NOT EATING BACON!

Do you know why you're not eating Bacon?

BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE OPPOSABLE THUMBS!!!
YOU'RE QATS!!!
(thanatos, Sun 7 Mar 2010, 23:31, 1 reply)

Ooh this is cathartic....
Dear Lawrence
I can never forgive you for treating David like a cunt and not paying him back what you owed him. You took advantage of his good nature and excellent money-management skills, and the fact that he was dying of cancer, to borrow from him to bail you out of your profligate lifestyle and get the bailliffs off your back. Your unwillingness to man up and do right by him made me, for the first time in my life EVER, a grass, as I told your debtors where to find you. I hoped at the time that your bollocks would turn square and fester on the corners, but the fact that you've now managed to assail the dizzy heights of being manager of Maplins in Sarf London, is punishment enough.
Happy fucking trails, cazzo.
Oh and I know about the threesome the two of you had with Kara. Not surprised. She answered an ad in the Standard for Escorts and ended up fucking some guy for free as part of an "audition". Hope you're happy, Cuntchops.
( Sallyrsm, Sun 7 Mar 2010, 22:03, 1 reply)

Kind of following on from beckyjsbx post some 9 pages ago....
.....for anyone who's had to let a pet go, from the pet to you

Dear Mam/Dad

I'm sorry I had to go. I don't understand why we don't live as long as you, you knew that from the start, yet in spite of that you took me in, loved me, fed me, spent time just being with me for no good reason other than you loved me unconditionally, accepted the fact that I make no material contribution to your life knowing that it was likely that I would leave first. Not just slipping away but you would notice I was Ill and have to make a conscious decision that the best course of action was my death, never seeing me again, and even having to pay for the privelige. I don't blame you for this, I know you would do anything to have me stay,but unfortunately it's just the way it is.

Anyway, there's some good news. I've heard about this place, so hows about I meet you there. When you come if you could bring me some fish. And some chicken. And some cheese. And some more fish. And some catnip. And a bit of fish.

Cheers

Edit: I've had 2 opportunites in the past 5 years to not enjoy this particular experience and now I've noticed that our Pepper



goes through an entire bowl of water a night - and I know what that probably means.

Big fat fluffy bundles of heartbreak just waiting to happen, every one of them. But will I get more fluff again.... Oh yes!
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Sun 7 Mar 2010, 20:49, 6 replies)