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This is a question Letters they'll never read

"Apologies, anger, declarations of love, things you want to say to people, but can't or didn't get the chance to." Suggestion via reducedfatLOLcat.

(, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 13:56)
Pages: Latest, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Dear Cleaners
By virtue of the fact that it smells of stale piss in here, I suspect you may not be doing your job to the fullest of your abilities.

Kindest, etc etc

(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 23:23, 1 reply)
Dear Love
we haven't met that often over the years so imagine both our surprise and delight when we got together last, it was a little unexpected but twas definitely a very good thing indeed with a quite lovely woman

Alas however as things come, they also go and it seems not to have been but luckily without any bitterness or bad feelings, but you aren't entirely playing by the script are you? so i'm afraid my old emotion Love you have become unrequited and I must ask you to please pack your bags and leave my head if you would be so kind

I completely understand your reticence to leave just yet and know why you don't want to go (she is so very worth it) and I know you mean well, but pouncing upon me at 5.30 every morning with ideas, thoughts, worries and conversations that will never be so that I spend the next few hours until lunchtime tense and stressed is a little mean, and the way you slip easily into my thoughts whenever I so much as stop for a couple of minutes, whispering how it could have been if I had said x instead of y is exhausting to say the least, each day it is a little harder, and a takes a little longer to wrestle you out of my skull which is why one of us needs to make a stand and lets be honest if you win it could end up ruining a good friendship, and I don't want that at all.

You are always welcome when the time is right, but for now, please let me have some peace, and let me enjoy those very good memories and it would be so nice not to have to push you down from joining in the conversations and making it awkward for the both of us, so if you could slip quietly away until the next time i would be very grateful
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 23:15, 3 replies)

Dear Life

Thank you for treating me like toilet paper thus far, I am looking forward to the next 35 years and whatever whimsy and cunt-numbing pain you have in store for me. We've pretty much covered the hopeless lovelife so that would be a little boring and predictable, you haven't thrown any major diseases my way yet so I don't know, surprise me!

Yours in anticipation.... etc
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 22:20, 4 replies)
Dear lady who wrote twilight and the other books
Vampires do not fucking sparkle. Just thought you should know.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 21:48, 8 replies)
I've written a letter to Daddy
his address is Heaven above
I've written dear Daddy we love you
and wish you were with us to love
Instead of a stamp I put kisses
The postman says that's best to do
I've written a letter to Dad-dy, saying I - love - youuu.

(Guess the movie.)
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 20:55, 4 replies)
Dear Rimmel
I see your latest advert features a black woman. Please could you let me know which brand of foundation she is using. I ask because there are no foundations on your website suitable for those of us with dark skin.



The advert in question cli.gs/3TjXTh
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 20:49, 12 replies)
Dear Ditched Of QOTW.
It's been *insert time period since parting* now.

Man the fuck up and get over it.

Love and hugs,
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 20:09, 8 replies)
To the girl who nearly broke me, for no reason
Hi there.

It's entirely likely you have forgotten all about this past scenario. The level of crazy it takes to do something so irrationally petty and hateful would probably be the same kind of crazy that would write it off as a blip, or perhaps a dream. It took me three years to discover what you'd done, and all those years I thought there was something wrong with me...

At college, doing my A Levels, I had a bunch of mates that, 15 years on, I am proud to say are still my friends. One of them you went to school with. You had a fall-out with her over some bloke, but, seeing as I probably only had two conversations with you in the two years of college, and this happened towards the end, your presence, let alone your dispute, barely registered on my radar. You were an ex-friend-of-a-friend. That's all.

I get into one of the best London art colleges to do my foundation course. My first day, I arrive a few minutes late thanks to a bus, and I'm a bit nervous as I didn't get to chat to people outside the lecture theatre. I don't think much of it - it's a busy day. I chat to one girl, then don't see her for the rest of the day. I chat to another, and halfway through discovering how much we had in common, someone asks to speak to her, and she never speaks to me again. This becomes such a common theme, I give up. Something, simply, must be wrong with me.

I get depressed. Worryingly depressed. All my friends have gone off to uni all over the country, as they aren't on art courses. My parents are terribly worried about me. I cry pretty much every night, when I'm not fuelling all my energy into my artwork, which is getting fairly dark.

There's a hideous college trip to Dublin, which I'm still not sure why I went on. A last ditch attempt, I guess, to show people I'm not... well, whatever the hell they think I am. One person shows me an awkward kindness, but is very odd when other people turn up. Another does much the same. I simply want to get back home - I've never been so unhappy.

One friend of mine helps me. He's not at our college - in fact, he's retaking his A Levels. He pulls me up, gives me encouragement, meets me for drinks at lunch, tells me to get out of there the best way I can - by working hard on what I love, and leaving the college behind. His encouragement works - by the time I leave, I've barely noticed people being cautiously nice to me, and I'm actively ignoring tutors who are now seeing my talent and begging me to stay at their uni (which, of course, I won't).

So, let's skip on three years. In that time, I've gone to a different uni, made amazing friends I can't imagine my life without, I've had fun and been incredibly happy, and can barely believe how at any point of my life I had considered, genuinely, ending it all.

I'm sitting on a green with a friend. I had made friend with this person at uni, but he, in fact, had also gone on my foundation. We're sharing a bottle of wine and a picnic, and we start talking about foundation. And this very odd line comes out of him. Something along the lines of "well, of course, I never really understood what had gone on between you and V"

I had no idea what he was talking about. So I asked. He, bless him, was a bit shellshocked, and incredibly embarassed. But I had asked, so he told me.

The day I arrived at foundation, once you had spotted that I hadn't yet talked to anyone, you began saying things about me. You told people I was a dangerous sort of liar, a loner who shouldn't be trusted. I had stolen your boyfriend, slept with other people's boyfriends too. I was, apparently, a manipulative basketcase. When people had been talking to me, you had 'rescued' them by having people take them from our conversation and tell them about the spiteful things I had done when I didn't get my own way. In Dublin, you saw me coming around a corner, and made everyone, simultaneously, turn in the opposite direction*.

There is, of course, an obvious problem with all that. Not one word of it was true. I can't have slept with anyone up to that point, unless you have a very loose definition of 'virgin'. I'm generally a pretty nice person - when I'm in a bad mood with someone, I will tell them this then shun them for a bit, then stop being churlish, have a conversation about it, then go back to normal. I don't think that's manipulative.

You know what? I think you had, entirely, described yourself. Quite why you chose me didn't seem clear at first - but hindsight? You wanted a fresh start, didn't you? To be seen as the good, friendly one, so you found someone who was just a bit too nice at the time to start asking around about why people were being odd, who would just take it.

Sitting on that green with that friend, everything fell into place. I understood why people had been so awful to me. I started to see why, towards the end, they had started to cautiously have conversations with me. I now make a connection I hadn't - when one of the popular guys was working in a bar I happened to be in, with that most excellent friend of mine along with some friends back for a break, that my generally sociable nature and giggles came out as the drink flowed and I had a great evening, that the next time in college him and a few others stopped and had a full conversation with me as if meeting me for the first time.

See, though, VERITY, there's just one thing - I'm still a nice person. I am. But one year of that followed by three years of AMAZING friends, who built up my confidence and made me the person I am now, did one more thing. I, finally, got around to expressing myself clearly. I'm much more confidant. I can, as a bonus, now get ANGRY.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not half as angry as I was all those years ago sitting on that green with a bottle of wine in my hand, where if I'd spotted you I'd have, frankly, glassed your face.

No, I'm now angry *enough*. And by that I mean this. If I ever see you, I will make a point of being polite. And, with your loved one by your side, I will ask you why you spread those lies about me in college. And you will likely bluster and say I am lying. And then I will call my friend on the phone, and he will back me up. And he will, happily, call two other friends on the same course who he is still friends with, and so on, until the cacophony of voices telling you that YOU are the liar, the manipulator, the spiteful harridan become too much to bear and you go and seek comfort.

Because, at the end of the day, you did this for one central reason, why you chose do to this to ME.

I stayed friends with someone you didn't like any more. Even though I didn't know you.

Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with you. But I genuinely hope it hurts.

Ta for now


*my friend, bless him, thought he should make a stand at this point, but was afraid socially to go against it, so made an executive decision to fall on his face.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 20:06, 3 replies)
Dear Ms. ******* ******
When you told me you had a boyfriend, my heart sank so hard I thought I had prolapsed!

Yours sincerely

(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 19:43, Reply)
dear annoying snoring man in a backpackers hostel in Lille France in 2001
i scrubbed your toothbrush around the bowl of the toilet while drunk.

i hope you didn't die.

all the best,
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 19:08, 5 replies)
Dear Maggie
I ain't gonna work on your farm no more


(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 18:30, 1 reply)
I remember the first day I met you. it was when you arrived from the rescue shelter. You were painfully thin, your fur was falling out in great patches and when Clan D went to bed that first night you howled for an hour because you were terrified of being left alone again.
I remember the last day I saw you. The bones were showing through your skin because you were hardly eating, you stumbled as you tried to step across the doorway into the garden because your back legs didn't work so well anymore and your breath came in harsh rasps. But then you tilted your head and grinned across the room at me and for a moment you were the dog that had made us all so happy for the last fifteen years.
I hope if you understood anything, it was how much we loved you.
I'm sorry I wasn't there to say goodbye. RIP you bloody daft animal.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 18:29, Reply)
I wrote a letter to my Dad...
...some time after he died.

No-one has read it.

That's not about to change.

Sorry 'bout that.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 18:15, 2 replies)
I prefer to use the QOTW to have a bit of amusing banter, but this one is offering more somber fare. As it's developing into group therapy, there is something I'd like to get off my chest. I've written this one in my head a thousand times, the content has changed over the years but the sentiment remains the same. So, here goes.

Dear ex-wife's new husband.

I would like to begin by offering you my sympathies, but I'm afraid I'm not big enough for that. You may never have rubbed it in, you may have the decency to still look sheepish and avoid my eyes on the rare occasions we cross paths, but this is scant recompense for going through my marriage like a wrecking ball and taking the most important thing in my life (at the time) away from me. Time has passed and the a lot of water has passed under the bridge now, but I still feel all the hatred I always have whenever I see you hobbling around on your gammy leg, despite the pain having subsided.

Yes, it is true that you only took what was offered, and I have since had plenty of time to re-evaluate exactly what kind of person I was married to. I consider myself lucky to have been given a chance so early in life to take another path, and am currently well on my way to building a proper life for myself, instead of resting happily with my head in the sand as I did for so long. I suppose my friend is right when he says I owe you for that, but for the life of me I'll never forgive you. It's strange that I've managed to forgive her and not you, but I wasn't married to you was I?

I do feel sorry for your kids. I feel sorry for them because although I don't know you, I now know exactly who you are married to, a luxury I never had while I was in the same boat. I know how easily lies flow from her mouth, how little she regards other people's feelings and, most importantly, I have learned that she is one of those people who thinks what you don't know doesn't hurt you, and uses it as an excuse to do exactly as she pleases and feel no remorse at the lies she tells. As such, I know exactly what you're up against in trying to keep a family together for the sake of those kids. While you keep a close watch on her and tell her friends to keep an eye on her the rare times you allow her to go out, I can assure you that it's not enough. I remember hearing with shock in the pub what a terrible person I was, never allowing that poor lassie to have a social life, despite the fact she was out every weekend while I sat in the house, slipping further into a depression. Strange how things work isn't it, but then, me allowing her to have a life of her own led to her fucking off with you. You don't want to make the same mistake, do you? You're obviously smart enough to know she hasn't changed. I can tell you with my hand on my heart, you're right.

I'd love to see your face. I'd love to be there when you realise what you did to me has been done to you, probably more times than even I know about. I'd love to watch your fat face glow red and those dull, sheep eyes of yours gloss over with tears. Even more, I'd love to be the one to tell you, to smash your little world into a thousand pieces like you did mine.

I wont, though. You deserve to go through everything you and she put me through, but your kids? They don't. The day the first one was born was the day I put aside any thoughts of revenge. The best I can do for them is to keep my mouth shut and keep away from your wife when she's drunk, because I have to tell you, she still seems to like me a fair bit from what I've been seeing and hearing. You're just going to have to pray that everyone else does the same, or at least that she's right, and it won't hurt if you don't find out.

Once it finally comes crashing down though, all bets are off.

Good luck with that, anyway.

Yours with big hugs and kisses,

Your quietly waiting mortal enemy.

Christ on a bike. I never knew half of that was in there!
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 17:22, 8 replies)
that email...
Dear sister in law,
I know it is a few years since I sent the email that dropped the bomb on our veneer thin family relationship and looking back, I can see all the things I wrote about way you packed in your marriage, my openness about my thoughts about how you did it without reason, beyond he didn’t treat you like a princess anymore, made no effort to try and make it work,how you made false allegations about his ‘violence’ toward you, lied about sexual impropriety that nearly cost him his job, and the right to see his daughter, the way you slagged off his mother at her funeral behind his back and saying how couldn’t stand to see his grieving orphan act.
Reviewing all that about how I was being frank and candid to you and my mother in law about how you saw your disabled niece twice in two years , made big promises to the other children then always let them down, your bullying behaviour toward your sister, my wife, who was going through her lowest point in her life. it wasn't an ideal way of doing things.
But now three years later, you are married to a lovely guy, have a happy life 240 miles away from your daughters father (and didn’t tell him till a month before you went) how he never complains about how you fleece him of money, in addition spending 8 grand year on travel alone but you won’t change any arrangement to help out despite hubby no2 being on the scene (who has no money) .
Funny how you were the most valued person at your company and they decided to make only you redundant, and how many friends went to your second wedding?, oh that’s right, none because you don’t have any.

BUT, all is better now my mother in law is talking to me and being nice, helping out and we can be civil in public, everyone is happier and I can see how that email caused all the ructions it did.
But truth be told, I stand by every word you narcissistic, dopey fucking bitch, for the pain, hurt, resentment and misery you have caused because you still don’t see that any of it was your fault and still believe everyone else was to blame.
You still haven’t made any effort to see your niece despite her being a year in great Ormond street hospital.
Funny now the wheels are starting to come off the latest perfect family you have married into and your falling in to the same old patterns, how your parents in law are now less than the perfect people you once described them as being.
But I won’t be able to say ‘I fucking told you so’ to anyone as muggings will get the blame once again.
I stand by every word I wrote and would not hesitate to press send again as it cut straight through your layers of lies and exposed your empty dark heart for who you are.
Actually, I wished I had the chance to say it to your face but never seeing you around, it just wasn’t possible.
So my mask of niceness will stay on now and in the future. and if you ever put your hands up to say I was wrong you will be forgiven in an instant because then we can all really move on.

(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 17:05, 1 reply)
Dear People On The Internet Who Capitalise Every Word
Why The Fuck Do You Do It? I'm Doing It Now And It's A Bloody Nuisance. Please Just Stop Before I Have To Do Something Cliched To You (Like A Good Old Cunting In The Fuck).



EDIT: My little fingers now hurt from all the excess shifting, and I honestly don't understand why people do it... Anyone who could shed some light onto this matter will be rewarded by someone being nice to you on the internet. Without the ulterior motive of trying to see you naked.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 16:16, 11 replies)
To Sue.....
Heres a message to my old schoolmate Sue. I’m sorry if I ruined your end of term by being a stroppy bitch. I was always an outcast at school and was pretty happy when both you and your bloke started talking to me towards the end of our final year. I know that for a time you were one of the many people that took the piss out of me but for some reason you had a change of heart, I know that I was hesitant at first to accept your friendship but I was eventually grateful and the days flew by.

I would like to let you know that those last few days at school were among what I thought were the best of my life.

So let me say that I’m sorry that due to my little temper you got to miss out on the end of the prom but from what I remember it was probably better that you were kicked out.

Also thanks for the flowers you left at my mother’s house, I tried to thank you personally but it just shit you up.

Strange really


Carrie White
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 15:20, 1 reply)
To me couple of years ago...
Dear Ross,

When you me meet a lovely girl by the name of Emma, try and stay clear of a relationship. She will be forever getting so wasted that the only sounds that she can make are along the lines of those made by a spastic with a stubbed toe.

She will phone you at 5 in the morning, to say hi and that shes pregnant with your child. Emma will then have no recollection of this, and deny all knowledge of this.

Also, she will drunkenly moan at you for not replying to her texts, when you are in the bath or having a shit.

Take heed, and remember, cover Mr Lover


(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 15:17, Reply)
Dear Mr Mental
Thank you for attempting to befriend me upon the DLR. I obviously have that 'new to London' look about me (no free paper to create personal space from the shoulders up while accidentally frotting someones laptop bag).

I didn't actually mean to make eye contact it just happened. Mainly because you were rubbing your ass all over the nylon seat to create friction and quell some sort of sphincter related irritation.

Thank you also, to the man sitting next to me who (from behind his metro) shook with mirth.

Lastly, the eyelash batting - endearing. Nearly as endearing as your obvious.....excitement.

Next time, I'll bring the ointment, you bring the ass.

Lots of Love,

(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 15:10, 3 replies)
Dear love of my life,
I hate it when you are in one of your moods, you are even worse than I am, I might be one for having the odd funny five minutes but you are predictable in your pattern of grudge holding, sulking and generally making things uncomfortable. Atleast with me it's all over so quickly that I don't make you feel like you can't sit in the same room as me.

We all have our peculiarities, mine might be going off at you over something supposedly insignificant. But rightly or wrongly I have come to the conclusion that it's less a case of you being laid back and more a case of me being more considerate and less about me being irrational and more about you not understanding me. The way you have started to pick at me saying I am always admiring myself, that really annoys me because I don't regard myself as a vain person and I think you'd soon start complaining if I stopped taking care of myself.

You are right about me not really listening to you when you moan about work, you moan about the same things almost every day. I have listened to it for over a year and could probably recite word for word every little thing you have to complain about. Forgive me for not 'being a good listener' - you need some new material.

Also, I hate that you do basically fuck all round the house. You clean the toilet, when I ask. You Hoover. Under duress. I don't ask you to pick stuff up from the shops after work anymore because there is a condition attached 'I will, if there aren't massive queues' - OF COURSE THERE WILL BE QUEUES, WORK HAS JUST KICKED OUT AND THE REST OF LONDON ARE HUNTING FOR DINNER TOO! So I stand in the queues and struggle with bags most nights on the tube but that's ok, isn't it?

You might drive me nuts sometimes but there's no one in the world who knows me like you do. The most important thing of all is that I love you, I will always support you and my life would be a dark place without you in it.

Just take the bins out without either having to be asked or expecting a pat on the back for doing so and for Christsakes stop bloody SULKING.


I have loads of letters I've never sent to lots of people, I think writing letters is a really cathartic way of getting some of that irrational rage out and not saying something you might live to regret.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 14:44, 5 replies)
Here's something that's never going to be read
Dear Reasonable People of the Internet,

Hi, how are you?


Mr King
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 14:28, 18 replies)
Civvie Street
Dear Civvie Street,

You really are shit aren't you? Pointless, mundane, lacking in almost every way.

When you once again walk upon your pavements it's clear how rarely any endeavour holds worthwhile merit. Your residents whine and complain at the things they should be grateful for. The term civvie "street" implies a community, belonging and a common bond. This, I assure you, is a gross misrepresentation.

Had I one wish it'd be to leave you and move back to "the green".

Civvie street, hopefully it won't be long before they knock you down and build yet another retail estate .... even a new Matalan and Poundland would be an improvement. At least in Poundland you know where you stand, being as everything is £1.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 14:14, 5 replies)
An author's catharsis
Dear fans of my work,

First of all, thanks for the hero-worship, the adulation and most of all, the enormous piles of cash that I keep in a big room in one of my homes. Once a day I go swimming in it. It's awesome.

However, it has come to my attention that some people are taking it a little too seriously. I'm flattered that you all love my ideas so much, even if there is something of the magpie about my books; I'm amazed that I haven't got it in the neck more for nicking ideas from other writers in my field. I knew that everyone would love the idea of any ordinary boy who can do magic, and battles evil forces, and grows up to assume great responsibility and has increasingly unlikely adventures, but to be honest I'm still surprised that it caught on in the way it did.

OK, a few things that I should get off my chest. Costume parties are all well and good but discussion groups freak me out, and once a week is taking the piss. It's even been suggested that some of you are attempting to live your lives according to the advice given out in the book. Get a grip, people! It's a bloody book! A work of fiction! Is that not obvious enough by some of the ludicrous things that happen? Do you really think that transmodrification of one substance to another is vaguely possible? Can you possibly hope to apply the characters' values to modern life? Of course not! Go out and have sex and stuff!

Oh, but don't try to write anything else in the same vein, or I'll sue the fuck out of you.

Yours sincerely,

(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 14:08, 8 replies)
Dear The Theare,
Dear The Theatre,

When my mortal coil makes that final twist and I am angrily deposited at the pearly gates of that place the gays like to call Heaven, I know that God would be so cruel as to set me a truly impossible challenge: watch Cats without any detectable signs of contempt or spend eternity being anally fisted by Camden tramps. As soon as the first act-or purrs, I'll be swiftly deposited doggy style on the red soil of Hell. And I know those tramps can't afford lube.

What you must remember, my lovies, is that the theatre is entirely populated by c*nts.

C*nts in the audience, c*nts on stage, even the ice cream selling c*nts are c*nts. Actually, they're ultra c*nts because they take a minimum-wage-paying job like that just to be close to the theeee-a-teeeeer, dahlink! It's a bit like someone licking up the piss outside Downing Street because their mummy told them they could rule the country when they grew up.

All theatre depends upon suspension of disbelief. Sadly, it's very hard to suspend your disbelief when there's some f*cking drama student shouting sh*t at you for an hour and a half. You know what? If I wanted to pay 50p a minute for a load of wank, I'd call an 0898 number.

Theatre-nazis always go on about how 'magic' takes place inside theatres. True enough because, they second you step inside - POOF! - all your money disappears… along with your time, your self-respect and every last bit of knee cartilage you had before shoe-horning yourself into a seat roughly three centimetres behind the one in front.

The only acceptable form of theatre takes place on ice. '˜Les Miserables'™ might even be bearable if I could spend my time daydreaming about the many and varying ways the actors could crack their heads open. "Cosette executes a triple salchow and a half twist while performing a monologue; then lands on Mme. Magliore's neck, severing her head clean from her body with the blade of her well-sharpened skate." Brilliant! It would be an inadvertent battledome of drama students, culling the most c*nty through icy mishaps. After years of performing on ice, there wouldn't be enough actors left to perform '˜The Producers' - and this is a good thing.

Actually, scratch that. I did have one good experience in a theatre once. No, I wasn't sitting next to Alanis Morissette (are you f*cking SICK?) - it was '˜Snoopy The Musical', and it was bloody brilliant. The laughs! The tears! The magic and the mayhem! The fact that I was only two years old and you could've stuck a turd on stage and jiggled it about with a stick and I'd still have found it mesmerising! Everything since then, though? Everything since I developed the ability to reason? Complete and utter shite.

Essentially, a play is just a bunch of actors who aren't good enough to work in cinema, appearing in a very shit film with no locations, no score, no cameras and no editing. In other words, theatre is your dad's home movies. Wonderful.

Fwa fwa fwa fwaaaaa, daaaahlink,


I used to write a blog called 'The Lost F*cking Art of Letter Writing'. This was one of my favourites, 'cause it was full of swears.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 13:46, 6 replies)
Inspired by dchurch inspired by Jeccius
Dear company ex-boss

Thank you for the wonderful look of shock on your face after I swept everything off your huge desk on to the floor. Those 4 1/2 seconds of your sick brain completely shutting down were more than enough payback for all the suffering you bestowed on so many.

Walking down the corridor, into the sunset John Ford-style, nonchalantly throwing a 1/2 finished can of beer over my shoulder at your squeaky verbals, I have to say this was a moment in my life I would replay again and again.

And your subsequent arrest some weeks later was just... justice.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 13:39, 12 replies)
Dear Spanky Hanky
You're a bastard.

Actually no. Not a bastard, a fucking bastard.

Why? Because you're just too fucking funny, and even if some of your stories are utter bullshit, I not only love reading them, but wish a little inside that I was you. Or if not be you, at least be able to be a bit more like you.

But I won't be. I'll just go on being me, and you'll go on having outrageous anecdotes to regale to us all, usually about your alcohol, sex and bodily fluid antics.

You utter, utter, utter bastard.

I dare you to give me a click. At least by getting to the "popular" page this week, I can pretend I'm just a little closer to being more Spankified.
(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 13:36, 60 replies)
dear lecturer woman
considering i have spent a lot of money on this degree, i expect a lecture to be more than half an hour long and also that it should consist of more than you reading out extracts from a book.

it would also be ideal if someone would actually turn up to give the thursday lecture, given that no one has for the past two weeks.

(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 13:26, 4 replies)
Dear teenage me
Bloody good result, mate. Capitalise on it or you will end up kicking yourself for the rest of your life.


(, Mon 8 Mar 2010, 13:12, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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