Dear World,
Please don't make jokes at other people's expense.

It's mean and it makes them sad :(

Lots of love,

The Children Of The World
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:02, Reply)

Dear Mr. Sawyer
You don't know who I am but I know who you are and I know what you done. You had sex with my mother and then you stole my dad's money all away. So he got angry and he killed my mother and then he killed himself, too. All I know is your name. But one of these days I'm going to find you and I'm going to give you this letter so you'll remember what you done to me. You killed my parents, Mr. Sawyer.

EDIT: Well, he didn't finish it.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 8:48, 2 replies)

Dear Violet..
"..Remember that time you said to me "I wish Jon was my dad!" and I had to give you the "right thing to say" lecture about how you have a dad already who loves you very much and Jon is not a replacement?

Well, since that fat bastard took you and has kept me from you, what I want to say is: I want to go back in time to that day and say "Yep. Violet, I wish Jon was your dad too".

Love you sweetie, stay strong. What you said afterwards always made makes me smile whenever I miss you.

"Mum, I think you should marry Jon. He's not fat.. he's not that lazy, and he's kind to you."

I love him far too much to marry him ;)
(LittleWhiteTreat, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 8:30, Reply)

They don't care about us
You when people say "I'm going to write to my MP", laugh at them say that chances it are it will just be a waste of your time.

Last year I wrote 3 letters/emails. One to my council opposing plans to turn our gorgeous old cinmea into a UCKG church (info:http://www.mcguffin.info/), and on the day of the release of Call of Duty: MW2, I wrote to both Keith Vaz MP (criticising his stance on the game in the commons, and reminding him that computer games were one of the few areas where British industry is succeeding, and he wants to stiffle it) and to Tom Watson MP, praising his opposition to Vaz's plans to further restrict the video game market.

All 3 of these had 'read acknowledgement reply' attached to them, meaning once they were opened, I would confirmation.
None of them, over five months later, have even been opened.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 8:11, 8 replies)

Dear Mr Gordon Ramsay
Dear Sir,

I am a six foot, 110Kg Vegan.
In the past I have been a rugby and American Football player.
My current hobbies include the Martial form of T'ai Chi.

I would dearly love to meet you in a boxing ring, and pummel your wrinkly sack-of-shite face to a tender medallion.

Yes we are all weak and feeble

Lots of love

Andy

XX
(BigAndyBee, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 8:09, 45 replies)

Dear X
being old is still fun. I wish you knew
(sirolimus, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 7:30, Reply)

Dear Rob,
This QOTW is shit. Listening to other people pour their hearts out is just a bit boring, really.
In fact it reminds me of listening to an Evanescence song - you know, that woman who sings about herself all the time.

I hope you get anal leprosy.


Regards,
(Flap Burger hasn't really got a burger made of flaps, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 6:55, 2 replies)

I actually submitted this to his site but it got passed on to some other jobsworth
Dear Prime Minister Rudd,

I am a very happy 32 year-old resident of Australia, who never fails to extol her virtues to all whose ear he is able to bend in the regard.

It therefore came as some distress to me and my 63 year-old mother (visiting Sydney to say goodbye to her dying sister) to be accosted by police sniffer dogs as we exited Town Hall Station.

I am a man who is loth to exaggerate, Minister Rudd, and so I feel a certain anticipation in using the word "accosted" but my mother is quite literally bruised (bruised, sir!) from the encounter with the good pup. So enthusiastic was he to alert his kind masters to the particulars of my personal scent that he broke the vessels under her skin brushing her aside to press his nose between my buttocks.

But I tell you, Mister Rudd (may I call you Kevin?) it was a great comfort to me to see that the young uniformed masters of the aforementioned pooch were really quite eager to see that I was unharmed. They kindly gave me a thorough physical examination and removed all the contents of my bag and pockets in the centre of the station for all to see, and left them on the ground in a very expressively arranged heap for me to pick up.

In my haste to leave these fine officers of the law to their clearly pressing duties, I hope that I did not soil the premises of the station with any forgotten examples of my randomly strewn belongings. If you find any souvenirs of the Blue Mountains obstructing pedestrian traffic, you should be able to track down my address through the Sydney Police, who were almost worryingly keen to know it. I believe they entered me into some kind of lottery, as I saw the word "POT" written next to my captured details.

My mother, being a denizen of a far inferior foreign country whose uncouth ways are comparatively lax in matters of statutory enforcement, was so thoroughly impressed by witnessing her son held spreadeagled against a grating by armed men in boots that I dare say she will not even sleep tonight. Adult men humiliated, middle-aged women wide awake. Every day we just get better, don't we?

I accept, Kevin, that I as a grown man cannot always be trusted to maintain my own moral standards in the face of all the temptations in the world, but can we not apply some more courtesy, dare I say a little gentlemanliness to the procedure of intructively violating my person? Some smiles, maybe a handshake? Certainly after the sort of intimacy the custodians of Sydney's peace enjoyed at my expense, I am entitled to at least a beer.

Yours faithfully,

Ladyfingers
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 4:54, 4 replies)

To an ex
Dear Jason,

I know you took it hard when we broke up. But, that was no excuse to tell all our friends that I was cheating on you. I never did that, I never even thought about it. The reason I told you was true: after six months we had never kissed, never even held hands. That's not a relationship, that's a friendship and that's what I thought of you as. It was time for both of us to move on.

I know you got depressed after we broke up, but that wasn't my fault. You were depressed far before then. Did you know I went to the psychiatrist first, to tell them about you? I sat there in my coat the entire time. I was so scared, but I wanted to get help for you. I spent hours and hours talking to you, trying to get you to see someone, to do something besides complain about how I ruined your life.

Do you know what it does to someone when you tell them you're going to kill yourself and it's their fault? I'm worried that you did know how that would affect me, that I would consider getting back together with you to ease your pain and keep you alive.

What about that night where I was lying on the bed and you kept rubbing my back and moving closer? That night, you made more contact with me than the entire time we were going out. I kept moving away, but that didn't stop you. I almost gave into you that night; I felt so guilty about everything. If I hadn't left so suddenly like that, you would have destroyed my self-respect. That night, when I was riding my bike home as fast as I could, I realized I couldn't make you happy by giving you myself. I love myself more than I ever loved you. I used to think I would do anything to ease the pain of a friend. Now I know that's a lie.

I still talk to you online because it makes me happy to see how miserable you are. I'm in university getting a second degree, living with my boyfriend of three years, and have never had trouble finding a job. You want to know why you're still miserable - living with your parents, in debt with no job for 2 years? Because you blame everyone and everything else for your problems. Guess what? It's you.

Regards,
(Tarana, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 3:12, Reply)

Thank You!
Dear Brother Luke,

I write to you today to thank you! It has taken me a long time to understand why you did the things you did but, after today’s events I understand you where really thinking of my best interests. A good friend of mine told me recently that things happen for a reason and now I know it is true.

I couldn’t understand why you kicked me out of the basket ball team when I asked if I could leave early from training for a few weeks. I thought that any reasonable person would have understood that as I lived further away from the courts, it took me longer to get home than the others and as my Dad was away on business and my mother had to take care of my younger siblings, no one could collect me in the car. I thought that when my mum rang and explained I, a 12 year old boy, would have to catch 2 trains and walk 2 miles in the dark through deserted streets and lanes it would convinced you to reverse your hasty and publicly humiliating dismissal from the playing roster (we all know mums can be a bit over protective at times). I had expected that being one of your better players, who never missed a game and always gave 100% you, would have made an allowance.

I thought it was a type of papal sponsored religious bigotry that you gave some of the other boys who lived much closer to the training courts a ride home in your car after training. I honestly believed you did that at the time because they where Catholic like you and I was C of E. I did wonder about your vows to care for others and the way you executed your observance of you vows but, now I understand.

Despite my newly found understanding of why you acted like you did, I am still not sorry that I joined one of the opposition teams and played a key part to defeating your best side in the under 14 grand final. That victory still gives me a warm feeling of pride when I think back on the day.

As you begin the new journey in your life I hope that you will receive the rewards you so justly deserve as a resident of Long Bay Gaol. I have it on good assurance from some less than savoury characters of whom I am acquainted and who know your new cell mates that they will take special care of you. I have been told they have a special welcoming ceremony for men like you, where you will get to experience what you did to others over many years all on your first night in general population and on many more occasions over the next five and a half years.

Thank you for not offering to give me a lift so I could remain in the team, thank you for not using your position of trust against me to get me to provide you with oral pleasure and thank you for not stuffing you wizened cock into my rear end as you did to those favourite boys you drove home (at least 11 if we go by those who testified against you). Thank you for exclusively enjoying the pleasure of the flesh from young boys only of your faith and not all of those who you could so easily taken advantage of.

Thank you, for in your own way protecting me from the depraved sexual satisfaction you desired and sought out in others.

Kind regards

bad advice
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 2:49, 4 replies)

And a further two letters
This time, to one of my ex's and one of my friends. Both are called Laura, just to confuse people. Names not changed because neither read this site and nobody knows them, so huzzah!

To Laura (the ex)

I'm sorry that I'm no longer your friend. Despite our friendship being amazing, and you being one of the few people I trusted, and the fact that we loved each other, I was a bit too naive and foolish when you said you'd always have a spot in your heart for me. I thought that it was the start of something beautiful when we finally got together, and I thought you felt the same. You certainly told and acted so, but now, I do wonder. Yes, even two years after the fact. To steal lyrics, "I wasn't your first love, I wasn't your last, but wasn't it sweetest of all?", although technically thats not true as I do think I was your first proper love.

I miss the times we used to have just talking about anything and everything. You were that rare breed of girl, a musician who played games and did a lot of artsy stuff as well as being a genuinely nice and cool and down to earth person who didn't get their head stuck up their arse. I miss that as I've never had that all in one person before, its usually been distributed amongst three or four people. I miss the fact that you used to start off joking that we were soulmates before actually progressing onto meaning it.

It's been so long, years have gone since I belonged with someone. That someone was you back when I still loved you. Nowadays, I'm not sure if I'm still in love with you, or with the idea of you. I'm over the girlfriend/boyfriend relationship thing, I just miss my old friend.

To Laura (the friend)

Christ I'm so fucked up over you. I don't know whether you want me as a friend or something more, because you keep swinging this way and that, backing off when you get too emotionally involved with me. I know you have emotional problems, deep-seated ones and I'd love to help you get over them. Unfortunately, I can't do that if you won't let me in.

You've shown the most trust in me that you've ever shown anyone, and I've reciprocated that. You're my second oldest friend, in the sense of me knowing you for ages, and I've always been your friend throughout everything, so would you at least do me the courtesy of letting me know whether you want one thing or another and please stop stringing me along?

I'm sorry for sending that email detailing how I was basically pissed off with you because I was in a very dark and angry state at the time and didn't think things through. I miss talking to you.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 1:35, 1 reply)

I really wish i could send this
But for the sake of peace and harmony i just cant.

To my ethically conscious and no doubt very worthy new age neighbours.

I understand your need to work towards making the world a better place.
I applaud you bringing folk together in mutual worship for world peace.
I dont mind that every weekend the house is turned into an open temple.
Or that all day and night, 7 days a week many folk seeking the light find their way to your door.
I hope that you can bring them peace.

But can you please fecking give me some?
Being woken up every morning by someone bashing on the door, then said door being slammed so hard, things actually fall over in here.
The constant horde of devotees thudding up the stairs like a herd of blind flid elephants.
The drumming, the chanting, the groups of people gathering outside afterwards being very loud in their praise of experiencing such a peaceful and calming experience.
While cars are revving in the road and filling my room with exhaust fumes, and the dog owners gaze fondly at their animals pooping in my garden and then wander off leaving it there.
Save the planet? Make a start in my garden please.
And what is it you do that involves hammering every morning?
And what is it with middle aged, middle class women who dress in ethnic asian clothes to appear more spiritual?
I apologise for screaming shut the feck up several times at 6am last week, but i was exhausted after days of it.
I assume you heard it as I hear everything from yours.
By all means do keep working at global harmony, but please spare a thought for someone who only lives a few feet away whose harmony you are destroying.

meh
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 1:22, 3 replies)

Two letters here
Dear dad,

I know I don't say this enough to you, but I love you. You've always looked out for me whenever I've had problems, you've been more accepting of me than mum has, and you've taught me so many useful things such as woodworking and general carpentry, some electrician stuff, basic plumbing skills, a helluva lot of insurance stuff, and to take pride in myself and my work. You're a decent bloke, a man who all can respect, and despite the fact that you're approaching your mid sixties and have diabetes amongst a lot of other problems, you seem so indestructible.

Unfortunately, I can't really tell you all this because of what mum will say. That and I'm being too much of a soppy git to be able to properly express myself. Despite the fact that I'm not your biological son, you've loved me as if I was and have treated me like I was. For this, I admire you a lot, because I know that I'm an ungrateful bastard, or at least seem that way most of the time when I'm really just too shy to say more than a thanks and give a smile, but I'm grateful that you've not treated me differently from any of the other kids, despite being bisexual and bipolar. I know I've been a handful over the years, but I hope I've made you proud of who I am.

Dear mum,

I love you for giving me life and for being my mother, but I don't actually like you as a person any more. You've grown more emotionally detached and demanding from everyone and at the same time, not willing to give anything back in return. You act like a spoilt brat most days, and you can't even see it. I miss the old mum I used to have, the one who would read the same books as me, watch the same movies and TV and listen to vaguely the same music and talk to me about it. I miss the talking we used to do, but every time I try and start up a conversation with you, I'm either interrupting something, or its something you have no interest in and give only monosyllabic responses and then give up on it five minutes in.

I guess that I just want the old you back, the one before you changed. I also wish you wouldn't attack dad because of some perceived slight. Both emotionally and physically. You taught me to respect other people and to never physically fight, so this hypocrisy on your part upsets me. I admire the woman you were and the fact that you are integral to my existence, but at the same time, I don't particularly like you now.

Sorry.

Edit: I sent the letter to my dad (via email, so dunno if thats cheating or not), and he read it at work the next day. He was very humbled to have read it, and was tearfully proud. So technically the first letter is no longer a "letter they'll never read"
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 0:50, 3 replies)

'Apology' letter...
I was sitting in my classroom, last year, when the deputy head marched in, mouth as thin as a hamster's dildo, eyes humourless.
"Maxfire in here?"
"Mmmmhmmm"
"Follow me." He walked out. I could tell this guy thought he was the dog's bollocks just by the fact that he had the audacity to summon me like so. So I followed him to his office, and sat in this big leather chair, rather like what a forty-something male would buy during his mid-life crisis. He sat opposite me, in a matching chair.
"I am Dan, the deputy principle. And as you can tell, Max, we are very high powered people". I restrained myself from making a cutting remark on his arrogance, "do you have any idea why you are here?"
"This isn't a face of someone in-the-know," I replied casually,
"no..." he did not crack a smile. He waited 10 whole seconds for me to answer. I said nothing, "so you don't know why you're here?"
"Not a clue. Do you?"
"There has been a complaint about a photo you uploaded on Facebook". Oh. It clicked.
Yesterday evening, my friend decided she would hide her hair from the rain by wrapping her coat round her head. I noticed that it looked a bit like a headscarf. She had the genius idea to take a picture of her in her new-found headscarf, and have a silent giggle and bitch about the muslim girl who used to bully her. Anyway, this photo somehow ended up on Facebook that night, and had no trouble acquiring offensive and borderline-racist comments. I put two and two together. It looked to me like the snivelling, greasy-faced, little shit had complained (I should mention here that the comments on the picture didn't actually refer to her by name).
So this "Dan" bloke gave me what can only be described as the most boring telling off. He didn't raise his voice from the monotone he clung to so dearly, his syllables did not change length, and his grey lifeless eyes did not move from my face. Eventually, he told me I had to write a letter of apology to the girl.
This, I did. I have to admit, it was a masterpiece of an apology letter. In fact, I reckon I got the sarcasm level to a point of perfection. To the girl, it would seem like a further kick in the teeth, an insult, just another way to take the piss, while also a seemingly standard letter to an adult reader. It was a work of art.
So the night before I gave it to her, I showed it to my headscarf-mocking ally, who was at my house She seemed particularly excited, and even took it aside, folded it neatly, placed it in an envelope and sealed it for me.

The next day, I am sitting across from the "victim of racism" on train.
"Um...here", I passed her the envelope with a slight sense of pride and anticipation. She said nothing, and slowly opened it. What happened next confused me. She pulled out a piece of paper, but this was not the portrait of a letter that I had spent so long on, but a piece of plain paper with 6 words on, in block capitals, I might add:

"FUCK YOU, YOU DIRTY PAKI SNITCH"

*silence*

Needless to say, my friend and I were very nearly expelled.
As for the letter she'll never read, I found it screwed up, in a tight ball, under my desk.
(Maxfire, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 0:40, 17 replies)

Dear "she-who-must-not-be-named",
Firstly, forgive me for addressing you like a female version of Voldemort from Harry Potter, but these days I avoid speaking your name, and typing it can have the same effect as hearing it out loud.

I'm just cooking some Chorizo sausages. They remind me of you because the first time I tried some it was from the little delicatessen down the road from where you used to live. Walking past the back door I just let one of the cats out into the garden and I remembered how you sometimes used to call my mum's cats "cat 1" and "cat 2". Even the word "Cat" reminds me of you, as I'm sure you know.

I've just pressed "next track" on the MP3 player because the first words of the song "How do I live without you" remind me of the fact that I have managed to do so for nearly 10 years now. Last year on the 17th October I didn't even realise what day it was. Maybe this year I'll just have a few drinks and not quite manage to realise why.

A few weeks ago I found the pictures on Facebook. One of my friends is also one of your friends, so I can see your photo albums. I was drinking one night and I thought it wouldn't do any harm. I don't really remember the next couple of days after that. What's seen can't be unseen, as they say. You looked really happy, as any girl should on her wedding day. I hope he makes you happy always, I really do.

Meanwhile I keep myself busy,my spare bedroom is home to the colour laser printer I always promised myself, I can stay as late as I like down the pub, or at least until the Landlord calls time. When I get home the cats don't mind if I smell like beer, they just sleep in the other room.

I guess loneliness is the price I pay for freedom.

yours, with love,

-=# Amos E Wolfe #=-
not my real name...


Obligatory warning to others: don't leave it too late, heed the wise words of xkcd here
( Amos E Wolfe makes vinyl signs and things like that, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 0:32, 2 replies)

Dear extremely loud coworker,
Every day you sit next to me at your desk on support calls, talking rapid-fire into the handset at levels so unbelievably loud the walls of this office visually bulge. Your conversations with customers are also frequently accented with piercing, elf-like peals of laughter.

While I am aware that presenting a bright and happy attitude to callers is important to the technical support division of any company, I am also aware that if you continue in this manner I shall have no choice than to grab the back of your head and SLAM YOUR FACE INTO THE DESKTOP 27 TIMES IN A ROW SPATTERING BLOOD AND BITS OF CHEAPLY-DONE DENTAL WORK INTO THE WIDESCREEN MONITOR, AFTER WHICH I'LL WHIP OUT A SLIGHTLY RUSTY LAWNMOWER BLADE AND THERE WILL BE A FESTIVAL OF HACKING, CHOPPING, AND STABBING INTERSPERSED WITH MANIACAL CACKLING AS YOUR TWITCHING CORPSE SPRAYS RED PLASMA IN EVERY CONCEIVABLE DIRECTION!!!!!!!????????#{$`%"#{$`+%"{#`%+&;74[@L7@[PKI6

Yours fictionally,
THE 2.

Oh, PS: See you see you at the Saxe-Coburgs' canasta evening. (That should puzzle him.)
(The 2-Belo OH SHI--[Sound of impact][End of recording], Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:56, 5 replies)

To D. Cameron
Congratulations on not being a cunt anymore.


Love,

Everyone
(Ludacrust alliterated your monstrously magnanimous mother, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:49, 5 replies)

Dear Dad
I know that on the surface, I have a lot of good reasons to hate you. You abandoned the family before I was even born, your selfish and abusive actions drove Mum to an early grave, you left me to be raised by your relatives while you went off in pursuit of your career, and when I finally tracked you down, you were incredibly violent and actually tried to kill me.

But still, I'm pretty chuffed that you turned it around and threw the Emperor down that pit. Onya!
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:31, 2 replies)

Dear Controller of Programming at Galaxy FM.
As much as I enjoy the breakfast show, I and many other listeners would warmly welcome some more variety in the playlist, especially as we have your station on in the background all day at work and many of us don't have a choice about what we listen to. And let's face it, given how long the ad-breaks are and how often they occur, it's not like you can't afford a few more records. But if for whatever reason you can't achieve this, I'd suggest renaming the station so that it provides a handy, concise summary of the content for prospective listeners. Maybe something like She's Nothing Like A DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOODOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOODOO FM?
Yours,
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:29, Reply)

Dear Terry,

I want to thank you for all the hours of reading pleasure that you've given me. I must have spent literally hundreds of hours - and I am a very fast reader - reading the collected works that sprang from your towering intellect and imagination.

My whole family has avidly devoured your books, whose humour and genius has meant happy reading for us all.

I cannot believe that one of the brightest minds that has ever written in the English language has been struck by the horror that is Alzheimer's.

There seems so be something so fundamentally wrong in this.

I don't know what to say now without sounding awfully fucking trite, so I'll simply say thank you.

Thanks, Terry.
(anvil, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:28, 7 replies)

Dear people I interview.
Sometimes I actually start the conversation with no idea at all who you are and what you do, just as a little game. As I tease information from you I slowly piece it together until finally the penny drops.
Sometimes when I play the tapes back you can actually hear me say "Right!" about five minutes in.
( difficultchild, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:24, 1 reply)

Dear IT people
Please dont report this utter time wasting.
( difficultchild, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:22, 1 reply)

The computer repairman
Thank you for looking through the private files on my laptop. It changed my life beyond belief.


Paul Gadd
(Pill Popper Thank you Sasha Shulgin, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:21, Reply)

Dear Prudence,
Oh I also meant to say you should warn your sister about that American director she fancies, no good will come of it.
Cheers,
John Lennon
( difficultchild, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:21, Reply)

Dear Kittens,


Who's a little kittenses? It's you! Yes you are!

Yours,
apeloverage.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 4 Mar 2010, 23:20, 10 replies)