Dear Sivvus
Please remember to shut your curtains before you get undressed. You live on campus and, from the looks of things, word has started to get around.

x
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 11:44, 2 replies)

Dear Printer Repair Man
I am going to break my printer again just so the girls in the orifice can again admire your magnificent butt whilst you bend over to fix it.
(Purpledoris I've got afeckin' job, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 11:37, 2 replies)

Dear B3tans
I hope that no one wins this QOTW.

Because all your letters have now been read.

Which kinda disqualifies you.

x
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 11:28, 12 replies)

Dear bloke in the office opposite
I think you should get up and walk around the central office more. This will prevent potential blood clots, which could be harmful to your health.

I say this purely out of concern for your welfare and not in any way because I get any kind of kick out of the sight of your tremendously fine arse nor is this at all to be considered one of the highlights of my day.

Please...

Rak x
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 10:59, 6 replies)

Gordon writes..
In response to this letter.

Dear Voter Pleb Underling Peasant Chad,

I read your letter (I say "read", I actually had someone turn it up the rigt way for me and point out the bigger words) and am gratful that you understand my plight.

In these difficult times, when I seem to have lost the support of the country I so long wished to rule with a passion that was second only to the longing that I had for the beautiful man who preceded me and the longing my "wife" has for money and social standing.

Life was easier when we were in opposition - darling Tony and I laughed and talked of the carefree days we spent at University together. Of sharing student digs together and, purely because we couldn't afford to pay the heating bill, of the duvet we huddled under. Tony says it was purely for those reasons, yet (between you and I) he always had money for guitar strings and to take that cavernous-maw-on-legs out to dinner, so I think he might be telling a fib, though. Sometimes when I'm with Sarah I imagine myself back in that sweaty student flat. I bought her a pair of strap-on ears but it's just not the same...

Now we've been in power for so long that I have forgotten the simple joys of being able to claim vast expenses and do very little - also, betwen you and I, I don't think people are buying the excuse "it's the fault of the previous government" anymore as we were the prvious government. And the one before that, too.

I know that it might seem like I've been uncaring about the soldiers, but to be honest I've had so many Ministers of Defence and Home Secretaries that it's hard to keep track of what I'm supposed to be doing. It got worse when Tony dumped me for that slag George and I spent hours doodling "Tony 4 Gordon" in my dispatch notes when I should have paid attention - I can see now that was probably less than wise. Besides, is it such a big deal that I mis-spelled one soldier's name, when I couldn't even be bothered to learn the other ones' names?

When everyone calls me names and says I am incompetent, it's hard to know which advice is correct - I can't pull out of the war without looking like we shouldn't have gone in the first place, yet we can't keep fighting if I want to stay here at number 10. I like it here - I've got my posters on the wall and I've got a special room where I can throw my toys at targets...or, "interns" I think was the word that Sarah used. (I don't like her much - she's not as much fun as Tony and she won't wear the ears...). I've got my poster of Margaret Thatcher and my cuddly Stalin and all my other things are here, too. I don't want to leave!

I don't understand why you feel the way you do about me - I've tried being approachable - do you know how hard it was for me not to wear a tie that time? Or to smile and pretend to actually care about you plebs when I was on that dreadful show with Piers Morgan? I have tried so hard and, just because I might have made a teeny mistake over the economy, suddenly you all hate me - admittedly I might have thought that the price of gold would defy the cycle that had stood for hundreds of years and, yes, I might have thought that giving the dole-scroungers the ability to buy on credit was a sure-fire way to win an popularity contest and prove my financial wizardry.

I thank you for trying to understand my horrible situation when so many of your "class" would prefer to pelt me with shit-covered rotten fruit - you genuinely seemed to try to understand my position.

By the way, the odds are I wouldn't need you to piss on my gums - the draught across my teeth from my slack-faced yawn would put out the flames. Thank you for your concern, though.

Yours, etc.

Gordon
(Chad, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 10:51, 7 replies)

To my first white pube
Well you chose your moment to make your appearance, I must say. The morning of my father's funeral was hardly the day I needed another reminder of my own mortality.

I was angry when I first met you, but there was a tear in my eye as I flushed you down the toilet.

Not because I was sad; just because it stung like fuck when I pulled you out.
(Smale is stuffed, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 10:06, 4 replies)

Parties! Pooping! Panic! Christmas!
Dear Colleagues,

You remember the Christmas party? The one at the poshest place in the whole of the city? The one that we have to be on our best behaviour at as you don't want to be embarrassed?

Well, I have a confession to make.

Do you remember I couldn't find any toilets other then the disabled one? Do you remember I looked a little flustered and vanished for a while? Do you remember the horror that was the disabled toilet at about 4pm?

It was me. Sorry guys.

I am the man that, after drinking his own bodyweight in sambuca, felt his stomach begin to cramp. I am the man that stood there, panicking, as I waited for the toilet to become available, as the first indications of what was to happen became apparent to me. As I shook hands with the guy leaving the toilet I was, in fact, shitting myself.

None of you realised this, but I am sorry to say the flow of semi solid sewage was irreversible. I finished what I had begun, in the toilet, but there was significant damage. My trollies were destroyed and it's only by the grace of God that there had been no seepage into my trousers.

My dear colleagues, imagine my panic when i tidied up, but saw that there was shit plastered up the cistern. Imagine my shame now, as I write this, when I admit that I didn't tidy it up and for good measure dumped (!) my shitted undercrackers into the sanitary bin.

Yours sincerely,

DP
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 11 Mar 2010, 9:28, 2 replies)

dear flatmates
it was me who shat on the windowsill
( nightbuffalo needs more duct tape, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 8:56, 1 reply)

What the hell, God never fucking listens anyway...
You know, God, there comes a time when things just need to be said.

Life to me is a like childish prank somewhat beneath the dignity of a god. Imagine being given a beautiful present- a book or a toy- but the book is a detective story with the last page torn out, and the toy is a jigsaw puzzle with one piece mischievously missing. One feels foolish and silly... You have this image of yourself as a mature individual, but all you want to do is get your own back on this infantile-minded creature.

In short, I don't see how we can possibly conceive of God as a levelheaded, freethinking responsible adult. And so... even though I've tried for years not to lower myself to his level, if I ever meet the spiteful little bastard...

I'LL RAM HIS TEDDY BEAR DOWN HIS FUCKING THROAT!

*ahem* Now if you'll excuse me I'm going back to bed and try to get back to sleep...
( Wanderer, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 6:59, Reply)

Dear Bro,
I learn that world has a lot of free lectures,you are the one to create syllabus. There are a lot of teachers outside the school, Its your decision to pick who will teach you. All of us are enrolled today in one university, there are many difficult subjects, but because its free, you are the loser if you drop. All of us will graduate, in many different ways. The only diploma is the remembrance of all the good things and love that we left in this world that someday we dream to change.
(FunnyMan, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 4:17, Reply)

Dearest Brain
I know you like to have a little joke on me sometimes, I know it may seem funny to you, but I honestly don't know how much more spillage my floor can take. No matter what I do, no matter how much precaution I take, I always seem to spill my drink.
Why is this? Why am I so uncoordinated? I just completely missed the glass! All over my hand! As for the diet-coke stains, it just really takes the piss. And while I'm at it, can you please have a word with my two rather large left feet, because it's nearly summer, and I can't wear thick black tights to hide my bruises because of my latest stumble. And also, please, please, just for once, let my shoes stay on my feet. Please? I'm 23 years old, and I walk along the street tripping, shoes slipping, spilling drinks all down my clothes and my friends have already copyrighted me the nickname of Sippy-Cup. It's not fair. If I get this job, I'm going to be worse than the bloody kids!

Thanks,
Love you!


(P.S. can you stop that nervous tic I get when I have to speak in front of people? Before Monday? I can't make that sound during my presentation. I'll die. Thanks)
(pinkpunkpython is skinning up, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 0:51, Reply)

Dear Stomach
I ski, I fly power kites, I eat barely anything and I cycle miles and miles per day.

Why are you still here?



Edit: This is made particularly annoying by my flatmate, who does fuck all, is 6' tall and weighs 65kg.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 0:37, 5 replies)

this could be one of many...
Dear father

surprisingly, I ofren think of some of the things you did:


* not letting me cut a slice of bread as women couldn't cut straight
* not letting me buy my own toothpaste as a child - I know you did the shopping, but I was the only person in the house with their own teeth (!)
* calling all music after 1960 'noise'
* buying that ricky martin cd and singing 'she bangs' daily.....?
* saw nothing wrong in wearing dead friends' clothes, even if they were over a foot taller than you
* refusing to let me know how to switch the central heating on
* not letting me eat any christmas food (fruit, nuts) even on christmas eve
*hiding said christmas food in your bedroom and forgetting about it
*moving furniture in said bedroom 4 months later to discover 'misplaced' food stuffs
*buying 'bargain cars' - being picked up from a luxury car dealership (where I worked) in your banana yellow triumph dolomite takes some beating
*taking the fuses out of the fuse box on your way to bed to stop electricity being used whilst you were asleep
*using my car to store your veg, paint, tools

I know you couldn't say that you were proud of me, but I did love you Mr SPB
( pottybeaver is neither a potty nor a beaver, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 22:53, Reply)

Missed the Ginger QOTW, so I'm posting here. They've named their new tea after me

( gingerbenji wrote a book http://goo.gl/8UiGjd, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 21:57, 4 replies)

Dear The Country,
What is the point of having a penal system which locks up, rehabilitates and eventually releases after their sentance has completed scum like Venables, when any fule no he should be gouged, burned, boiled in oil, ripped apart by dogs and the pieces mailed to every village in the country to be stamped and spat on?

Call that justice?

Love,
The Daily Mail

(Hang on, letters they'll never write or read? ;-) )
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 21:52, 6 replies)

Dear makers of How Clean is your Wifeswap's Location Dine with me Kightmares....
Please, please stop.
( The only Dave is pushing things forward, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 21:33, 6 replies)

dear celebrity chef
once I liked that recipe you did, that does not give you the right to invade my home every fucking night on multiple channels with the same variation of the same food with an Italian/Mexican/French/etc twist.

and SK, those "omelettes" you cook would give the hardiest of stomachs diarrhea of ethiopian proportions. fuck off.
(8allright is praying you've got a cold, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 20:22, Reply)

Dear Music Publishers
One score should not cost £40, especially when it's a tone poem. I don't care if it's a "rare order", you choose to print it out and stockpile it, and therefore there is no difference between this and any other score.

It's about 40 pages of paper and some black dots, and it's also something I need for my degree. I can't help but feel you're capitalising on that to some extent.

Also, libraries in the UK: One copy between you, and you've lost it? For shame.

It would be easier for me to go and dig up the original fucking manuscript from Vaughan Williams' grave, I swear it would...

Length? About 300 bars
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 20:22, 13 replies)

Dear Adolescents/Teenagers
STOP TAKING YOURSELVES SO SERIOUSLY! When you are in your 20's you will look back and laugh; and put your fist in your mouth when you think of what a twat you were!
(kitescreech still here, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 20:17, 4 replies)

Dear Person who left our office last year whose desk we only just got round to clearing
forgot your porn.
(joe is troubled Got all married and teh stuffs, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 20:11, Reply)

Dear P*******
Won't you come out to play?
(kitescreech still here, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 20:05, 1 reply)

To Tall fuckers at Gigs
Dont stand in front of me! im 5'11", but I always get one of y9ou lanky twats in my way. And why do you always have a chatty dwarf as a companion, so you spend the ENTIRE gig bobbing up and down like a whores drawers?
(kitescreech still here, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 19:57, 9 replies)

Dear Flatmate
The items in the dishwasher are dirty. They only look clean beacause I rinse them before hand.

You should really stop plucking things out & using them.

Its too late to mention something now. I have left it far too long.
(Surfeit, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 19:40, 3 replies)

Dear Gilles Peterson
Thanks. Thanks ever so much. My ears have been opened and filled with exquisite things.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 19:19, 2 replies)

To the kiddy-fiddler of my childhood
Dear Les,

I don't know what made you think that a 12-year-old boy was in dire need of being wanked off, but trust me, it was a bad idea.

At that age, I was a bit confused as to why this strange man decided that I would be interested in Aston Villa, and even more surprised when he started showing me pictures of naked women in showers. I should have known better and, maybe, I don't know, been a bit scared of you, but, at the age of 12, as you were banking on, my sense of danger was not yet developed enough to see you as a twisted paedophile, only as a friendly man who helped out with the cricket team.

When you then took me back to your house, I was too young to have any kind of alarm bells ringing, even when you were stroking my leg in the car. When you then started wanking me off in your front room whilst stood in front of the photos of your family, I had no clue what was going on, and, Christ, you could have had the common decency to stop when I asked you.

The thing is that it took me three years to tell anyone about it, six to tell my parents, and, worst of all, fourteen years to ask a girl out in case I caused anywhere near the pain you did. 25 years later I'm getting married, but I'm scared of having children in case some sick fuck like you fucks their life up.

You're a cunt, Les, I have almost forgiven you, but there is still a small part of me that hopes you will die a protracted and painful death alone, if only in partial payment for the wasted years you have caused in my life and in the lives of your other victims.

With best regards,

nonegiven
(nonegiven, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 18:42, 17 replies)

Dear Ke$ha.
Why song so rubbish?
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 18:13, 1 reply)

Dear Sleep,
What did I do to upset you so? We used to be such good friends, you were kind to me and took me willingly each night, while I merrily gave my full attention to you for as many hours as my lifestyle would allow. But you've changed, Sleep, you no longer welcome me so lovingly at night, instead hiding yourself from me until I can bare it no longer and then only grudgingly giving yourself to me for as short a time as possible.

I haven't changed, Sleep. I don't have problems on my mind; indeed, it remains as vacuous and simple as it ever has been but you inexplicably chose to shun my continued pursuit of your loving embrace. Is it my slowly advancing years, my giving up smoking or the fact that I now choose to exercise a bit rather than focussing on make full use of my previously expanding behind? Have I caused you upset or called you a bad name?

Please tell me what I've done wrong, Sleep, I'll happily atone for any grievous error or unwitting offence I may have caused, just let me know how I've upset you so and I'll do whatever it takes.

I love you Sleep, please forgive me, I really am fucking knackered!
( Moey, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 17:59, Reply)

Dear Head of ****** School, Oxford
Your staff is by far the worst organised, most useless bunch of bitter old fuckheads I and my daughter have ever had the misfortune of dealing with.

Your inability to correctly enter my mobile phone number onto your database fifteen times in two years became a running joke in my family.

Your threatening to expel my daughter for something she hadn't done was a spectacular illustration of your ineptitude. I could understand it if there was confusion over who had done it. There wasn't. My daughter had to take it upon herself to go to the teacher who witnessed said incident and ask him to tell you what had happened because you hadn't bothered to gather a single piece of evidence before booking the expulsion meeting. I can't even begin to fathom what thought process was gone through to just randomly pluck a name from the air and blame her for it. You utter utter shit-for-brains.

The teacher who you had received dozens of complaints about, who unraveled in front of our eyes at a parents evening, had to hit a child in the face before she was disciplined in any way.

The head of the PTA took his own child out of your school.

You decided that my daughter should be placed into the bottom set for every single subject. We could never get a justification for this from you.

When we moved her to a different school, she was placed in the top set in all of her classes within the first term. She is taking AS level subjects during her GCSE years and she is happier (and healthier) than she ever was at your vile stinking cesspool.

I have nothing but contempt for you and 95% of the people who work for you. I hope you all die in a grease fire.
(Bliss/Full up to the brim, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 17:35, 9 replies)

Dear Lazy Part of my Brain,
Please get off your arse and go to the shop. There is nothing apart from naan bread to eat and you really should do something about that. I know you're enjoying pissing about on the net and not doing anything remotely productive, but yesterday's tea consisted of a cheezburger, and as I don't remember being a lolcat this needs to change. Now. Get Off The Internet!

In anticipation,

Your Guts.
( Poppy The Platypus was abducted by an army of toast soldiers on, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 16:52, 6 replies)

To: Sir Thomas Legg (Chairman, Panel of Inquiry into Parliamentary Expenses Abuse)
Dear Sir,

As you will be aware, many of the expense claims under your investigation relate to persons who have presided over legislation regarding criminal activity. Such legislation includes the 'Proceeds of Crime Act' (POCA), and the introduction of the 'Criminal Injuries Compensation Board' (CICB).

Under the POCA legislation, the state is empowered to seize the assets of convicted criminals, including any profits made on such activity which, in the case of many drug-related crimes, may be enormous.

Under the CICB legislation, any victims of crime (be their injuries physical, mental, or financial) may be compensated by the state.

Is it therefore reasonable to assume that all profits made as a result of illegally claimed expenses - for instance, on house purchases made on the back of such claims - will therefore be subject to seizure, given that the alleged criminals have deigned this a fit response for others?

Similarly, it would seem only an extension of logic that the 'victims' of any proven crime (the beleaguered taxpayers) should be entitled to expect compensation for their losses.

Can I be assured that you will consider these points when making your final recommendations?

Further, will you be justifying to the electorate the arbitrary threshold date from which these abuses are to be investigated? Clearly, there has been an institutionalised laxity in the handling of expenses for decades. How many of the country's so-called "Great and Good" are sitting on empires built on nefariously funded foundations?

Yours sincerely,

B3ta Demeter.
(b3ta_demeter, Wed 10 Mar 2010, 16:21, 7 replies)