This'll never be read by the recipient
To whom it may concern,

I miss you. I've been missing you this past week and it really hurts me since you left. I hate not having you around, and often will reminisce on the old days when we used to be inseperable. You always supported me in my times of need, making me stand up for myself and giving me a sense of invincibility that no-one else could. Together we did so many things, like rock climbing, parkour, moshing together at great gigs, airsofting, general dicking around the playing fields with our mates. There was one accident involving jumping in a moving car which ended with both of us flat out on the ground after bouncing off the open door, and we laughed about it later when we had recovered from those scrapes and bruises.

Alas though, you have gone from my life, leaving me feeling about a hundred years older than my twenty two years on this mortal coil. I sometimes cry and shake from the pain of not having you there. I can't stand this. You were the one thing holding me in place, keeping me from disintegrating into a thousand squishy pieces. And now you're gone. I don't know when you're coming back, if at all, and whether we'll be able to go back to how things were with both of us so strong together.

Please, for fucks sake, I hate having a bad back. Please, good back, come back to me asap.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 15:11, Reply)

Dear Stephanie from Lazytown...
...once they lift the restraining order I will be able to continue telling you about my penis.
(Tugnut I got them all..., Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:47, 5 replies)

To a mother in law....
Dear Mother-In-Law,

I’ll never send this or communicate its contents to you verbally. Maybe I should, but my husband would not forgive me. By the way, you’re in imminent danger of losing him.

Two weeks ago when his father collapsed from a sub arachnoid haemorrhage and had to be rushed to hospital for emergency brain surgery, your son stepped in as he always does because he is a responsible, reliable person.

He took some time off work and drove 150 miles a day to feed the 100 animals that would otherwise have starved on his Dad’s farm. This had to be done every day, his brother couldn’t do it as he can’t drive a tractor, his sister couldn’t do it as she lives even further away and has a two year old to mind.

He has now used up as many annual leave days as he can, so he is working full time whilst still running the farm. He’s also paying all the costs of this. Creditors that knew his Dad was no good for the money are coming out of the woodwork and now my husband and I have to pay them off before we can get the meal, silage and grazing necessary to keep the cattle from starving.
We will shortly be more than €5k in the hole because of this.

You offered to cover these costs at first and so we proceeded, as after all you own 50% of the farm and have no shortage of cash. You’ve now reneged on this offer leaving us in debt and my husband looking bad (for taking time off) at his new job which he got after 6 long desperate months of being unemployed.

I hate your wishy-washy meaningless promises and your ‘ah sure ‘twill all be grand’ attitude. But it’s not just the money. We can get over the money, it’s only money after all.

It’s seeing my husband’s faith in you being destroyed. It’s the knowing that even though he saved the day and kept the show on the road and stopped his father’s ramshackle, tractor-eating quagmire of a farm from being shut down by the Department of Agriculture, he will be stiffed by his own family and not even thanked for what he did. He only did it ‘cos he’s a good person, a responsible man who could never stand to see animals suffer.

I’ve been with him for ten years and he is still the best man I know. I have no idea how he could have sprung from such an irresponsible bunch of troglodytes.

I hate seeing him look at you and knowing how disappointed he is in you, there will be no more helping out on the farm, no more Sunday dinners, there will be no more of him once this crisis is passed.

Despite my best efforts, he’s washing his hands of you and you’re losing the best son any parent could want. He’ll never say it outright, he’ll never deliver an ultimatum, he’ll just finish up whatever needs doing and then leave quietly. And it’s your fault for not stepping up and doing the right thing. I guess it serves you right, but boy is it gonna hurt when you realise he’s gone and you start to feel his absence.

I am so sorry for you, but there will be nothing I can do to help once the Rubicon has been crossed and he’s crossing it now.

Your daughter in law.
PS : Sorry for lack of funny, it’s been a trying few weeks!
(Mediumsizedbear is trying to be littler., Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:43, 8 replies)

Dear parents everywhere
Your kids are interesting to no one except you and your parents. Not even your brothers and sisters are that bothered by them.

Your kids are not special (unless they're special), they're not gifted, unique, or all those glorious things you hope they'll shine at. They might well have a reading age of 11 at the age of 6. It's really not that much of an achievement.

Every step they take is, like for the rest of us, just one more closer to the final curtain.

The legal age for kids to be in pubs is 14. Yes I know a lot of places say kids welcome. I know a lot of places where you're welcome to take crack, but I don't. Please don't bring them in. They are loud and hideously annoying to everyone else who is there - including other parents - and yes you will get hostile glances and comments, so don't be surprised.

Also - if when you've ignored the above and your miracle runs into my knee as I enter the garden, causing me to spill the three pints I'm carrying all over it, and annoy me even further, then please don't act surprised when I refuse to care that your spawn is wet, and yes that I insist you replace the beer spilt. You and your spawn are very, very annoying, and your spawn shouldn't even be here in the first place. Face up to it and your responsibility - your life is on hold now, mine is not.

Sincerely,

A V
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:34, 17 replies)

There's a term for all of this
'Passive Aggressive'
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:31, 8 replies)

Dear you.
When we met I thought you were really sweet. The first few times we exchanged banter I knew you had a boyfriend and kept my distance accordingly. That time a few weeks later when I bumped into you in the pub, you told me you'd split up with him and we ended up getting pissed in the park and snogging, I bounced around like crazy when you left. Finally, someone was interested in me, she was fun and sexy and obviously into me.

When you called me a couple of weeks later telling me your dad had kicked you out, I said you could stay with me for a few days until you got your shit together. You came and stayed, and climbed into my bed that first night and did naughty things to me and I was elated and instantly hooked. After so long alone, someone wanted me.

A few weeks on, you told me you were pregnant. As you'd said you were on the pill this came as a huge shock, but I told you I'd stick by you because it felt like I loved you and I thought it was The Right Thing To Do. A scan revealed you were carrying twins which was also shocking and terrifying but I stuck by you.

A few weeks passed and you came to me while I was at lunch and told me you'd had a miscarriage. I was gutted, of course, so you comforted me by telling me it was ok, you'd got pregnant again. I remember almost fainting with confusion there in the sunshine and my brain screaming at me that this was all wrong, that you were crazy, flashing back to a few nights previously where we'd had sex and we lay in each other's arms and you asked what I'd do if you lost the babies and I told you I'd prefer to wait for two or three years until we got a stable financial footing before trying again for kids, especially as we'd only really been together ten weeks. I deflected these warning sirens because I was In Love and dedicated and it was The Right Thing To Do.

When things progressively went to shit, when your lies became more obvious and started eating away at my soul, when you started being confrontational and argumentative and just downright nasty, I stuck with it because you were carrying our child and my blind determination that I'd continue to support that child no matter what drove me to ignore the bad things and try to stick with you.

The day we went to hospital to bring our daughter into the world, I loved you more than anything I've ever loved despite all the shit. I loved you right up until she slithered noisily into this world and you told the doctor to give her straight to me when she was all cleaned-up. I took hold of her and her bright blue eyes looked straight into mine and pierced my soul. I put the tip of my little finger in her mouth and as her first action in a cruel world she suckled on my fingertip and captured my heart forever. At that moment all my love for you drained away and transformed into my paternal instinct.

For the first two weeks of her life I did every single one of our daughter's night feeds to give you a rest and let you recover from the birth. This was the only time I had alone with her and I'd sit up in our mattress and feed her quietly while you slept, all the time staring in awe and this tiny bundle of wonder we'd made from so much hurt.

In the storm after the calm, once the shine had worn off, I spent a long time trying to bolster myself for the long haul. Every fight we had was put aside, every lie I caught you out on was brushed under the carpet and not brought up. Unfortunately my resolve became weaker and weaker as I was worn down, things got worse for both of us and we had some truely horrible fights, sometimes physically bruising but always mentally scarring.

Ultimately my resolve broke and I called time on the relationship, a week before our daughter's first birthday. At her Christening and birthday party we carried on as if everything was ok, while at home we argued about who should move out and who should get the kitchen implements. When you finally left for good you walked out of the house and down the path with our daughter over your shoulder looking back at me and that image is as clear in my mind now as that moment.

In the years that followed you ripped every spare quid out of me. You bullied me and threatened to stop me seeing our daughter if I didn't bow to your wishes. You pushed me and pulled me and tricked me and twisted me and I just got on with fortnightly weekend visits and paid my way and loved those smiling bright blue eyes that pierced my being every time they locked with mine.

A few years later and you split up with your guy and took off to the other side of the country I missed our daughter like mad but paid my way. When you had a medical emergency and daughter ended up coming back here and living with her step-dad, I supported that. When you didn't come to get her, I was surprised but secretly quite pleased. When you finally returned and scrabbled around desperate for some mug to dig your claws into and give you a roof over your head, I revelled quietly in the irony. When you finally pissed him off and moved onto the next poor sap, I pitied you. When you'd sucked out his soul and moved out into a proper house and finally got our daughter back, I thought it might work. When you got kicked out of that house and moved in with yet another humble, supportive nice guy, I diligently took our daughter every fortnight, got my 'fix' and delivered her back into your care again, unquestioningly.

When our daughter told me things about you and your behaviour and your treatment of her and her siblings, it tore me apart inside but all I could do was tell her I was there for her if she needed me. When we were out walking once and she told me how scared she'd been of you when you held her brother down and screamed in his face and she sobbed in my arms while trying to form the words, I knew change probably wasn't very far away. When it finally came, I did what I knew I must do, what I promised I'd and took our daughter in. Eleven months later, after many meetings with social services and solicitors and organising access and having that access cancelled by you at short notice, I can confidently say that you're gradually pushing our daughter further and further away from you. Don't get me wrong, she's pretty happy and resilient and strong and forward-thinking and it bugs the shit out of me that she still wants anything to do with you despite how you've treated her, but she's free to do what she needs to be happy and I'll never stand in her way.

It took me a long time to get past all that happened between us. I wouldn't change it for the world because we made the most beautifully wonderful human being in the history of the earth and she makes me so proud every single day. I just hope that you can come to terms with who you are before you throw away the chance to be part of our daughter's life forever.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:27, 9 replies)

Dear Paternal Grandmother
You are a WITCH! Just because you had your hands on the purse strings did not give you the right to control everyone for your personal pleasure and benefit.

I am fully aware that your constant fighting and bitching and berating my father, your son, led him to an early grave. Which mother finds an opportunity to wind up her son just because she can?

I saw what you did to my mother. Jealous of her position as my fathers wife, you intimidated and abused her. You used her like a slave and nothing she could do was ever good enough for you and your equally vile daughter.

You emasculated your younger son, and you tried to control both me and my brother. You deserve to rot in the core of hell.

Now you are ageing, have lost both your husband and your son, and there is nobody who wants to give you the time of day. Have you ever thought you might have had a part in this?

What goes around comes around.

With no love,

Zero Coke
(zero.coke, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:19, 1 reply)

Dear Mr Bigot
Yes, I might look different from you, but don't patronise me by asking me if I speak English, especially when I just asked you a question in English.

Don't look confused when I take it up a notch and phrase my answers in words that have more than two syllables. Furthermore, don't scowl when I school you in your spelling.

Don't get offended when I ask you if your native language is English, especially when your grammar is atrocious. Do not give me a lecture on WWII history, and do not get belligerent when I point out you're factually inaccurate.

Dr Mr Bigot, I recommend you go outside your glass house once in a while. You will notice the world has moved on. You might even benefit from it.
(zero.coke, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:12, 4 replies)

Dear Other Neighbours
It's a shame that we only met when the problems started with the drainage. You seem like quite a nice chap, and your daughter looks very sweet, and I haven't met your missus but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, it's just a shame your landlord is so shady and useless.

I just have one thing to ask: can you and your wife please stop arguing?

It's not that I think it's unhealthy; couples argue, often over silly little things, and I'm sure married life isn't quite turning into the bliss you perhaps expected it to be. No, it's more the fact that I can hear it in the loo.

And believe me, I find it quite difficult to properly unclench my sphincter when the sound of your latest exchange of bile and vitriol is resounding through the bathroom at a volume which sounds like you're standing right behind me on the cistern. I was certainly quite alarmed the first time I blundered into the bathroom that morning to be greeted by the sound of your wife's voice yelling
"HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?"
I was honestly taken aback, and looked around in panic, fully expecting to see her sat on our toilet with her knickers round her ankles. Thankfully she wasn't, and I was able to siphon my python in comparable serenity after that.

From various comments that have passed through the thin partition between our houses, I have also deduced that she is a "stupid bitch," you are a "selfish bastard," and I have also been able to estimate when she's on her period. Though that remark may have been laced with sarcasm.

Please do not dismiss this request out of hand. Rather, before kicking off like you normally do, consider myself or indeed my flatmates, having to sit, frightened, on the crapper, waiting for our bowels to move as a torrent of anger rages barely metres from our vulnerable arses. Please: I'm just a simple man who wants nothing more than to be able to take a dump in peace.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:10, 2 replies)

Hello people at Next Directory.
Do you know who is not going to read the letter that you sent?

The person who used to live in my flat who you wrote to today confirming that you had changed their delivery address and would no longer write to them here.

Here's a hint. If someone changes there address, probably a good idea to write to them at the one they changed it too, not from.

Also, thanks for the jumper.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:06, 3 replies)

Dear Next Door Neighbour
Let me start this letter with an apology for not coming round to welcome you to our neighbourhood. I'm normally very polite and welcoming, but when I heard you screaming and shouting at your baby, then throwing a bag of dirty nappies out of the front door and into the street then I thought it prudent not to disturb you; after all you appear to be very busy caring for your newborn.

I would like to offer my appreciation for keeping me and my wife awake until 6am with your music almost every weekend since you moved in. I had turned my back on the Industrial Techno scene when I moved in with my wife so you have been kind enough to share it at a reasonable volume, just loud enough to knock ornaments off our mantlepiece and make relaxing in our own home after a hard week at work a bygone pastime.

I would also like to offer reassurance that the West Midlands Constabulary actively endorse your behaviour, by refusing to help us when we called them at 5am. The Borough council also actively endorse your behaviour, by sending us an information pack explaining what they cannot do to help us, and for sending a member of their Noise Prevention Team round to tell us that the music isn't loud enough to be considered a nuisance, despite him having to raise his voice in our lounge for us to hear him.

I would extend our gratitude to the Government who actively take a large portion of my wage to hand to you in the form of benefits to provide you with the alcohol necessary to fuel these parties. I can no longer afford to pay for such luxuries as we are busy working to pay the tax to fund your lifestyle, but hey we can hear the bassbeats, the shouting and the cheering through the wall so we can at least imagine what a such a carefree attitude is like.

Our cats would like to thank you for bringing mice into our area so that they have things to chase in the evening. The National Lottery would also like to thank you for helping their profit margins, by making me so desperate to leave our home that I spent £25 on scratchcards in the hope of winning enough to move away to somewhere quiet. I won a pound by the way.

Furthermore I'd like to thank you for saving us the time and effort of trying for children of our own, as we simply cannot afford them now. But it's ok as we have the full parental experience of listening to a crying child through our walls, while your parties rage on downstairs. You are also funding the NHS by stressing us out so much my wife is on anti depressants which at £7.20 aren't exactly free, so well done there.

Finally, I would like to wish you all the best for you and your son's future, and hope that you can find it in your heart to keep it quiet on a Sunday so that my wife and I can get a little bit of sleep before we have to go back to work to earn your party money again.

Kind regards

Hedonist
( h3donist tryin' to play me out as if my name is Sega.., Fri 5 Mar 2010, 14:01, 5 replies)

Please read the letter that I wrote
Love,

RP & AK
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:50, 1 reply)

To Ex
Dear Xxxx

Now we can move on because there is -
No more hurt,
No more anger,
No more upset,
No more waiting outside my work,
No more following me,
No more silent telephone calls,
No more 'chance meetings' in the supermarket,
No more tearful late night phone calls,
No more 'chance meetings, outside my home.
No more pleading,
No more lies,
Now that you know I had sex with someone who was not you.
I left you for no one and that was better than you.
Now I am living with someone else - he is my man and certainly not you.

Kindest Regards
Miss Freepens

Ps. yes, it is the smaller than I am 'used to'. I think by 'used to' you meant average possibly even normal.
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:49, 4 replies)

Dear Neighbour
Hello, how do you do? I'm the guy next door. We've met before, albeit briefly, and I feel we may have got off on the wrong foot slightly.

So I'd firstly like to apologise for that Friday night a few weeks ago. Yes, we did end up making a lot of noise, and I'm very sorry; we didn't realise it had got quite that late. We'd been out in town for a friend's birthday, then we'd come back to our place and a load of us eventually fell asleep in a failed attempt to watch The Big Lebowski. I apologise that the TV was so loud; it was only at about a quarter to four that I regained consciousness and decided I should probably switch it off.

I'm also worried that you have to put up with guitar playing most evenings. I don't know to what extent the sound travels through the walls, but if it is a nuisance then I'm sorry for that too. I do try to keep myself in the room which I know has the best soundproofing, and our landlady has reassured us that you probably would have said something if it was disturbing you.

Assuming you accept this apology, I'd like to get down to business. It's your child, you see. I'm sure he's a lovely little lad but he's got quite a big mouth on him, hasn't he? I know this because my bedroom appears to be right next to his, and believe me, every time he has a tantrum, I can hear it. Seriously, the first time I heard it I wondered whether you were raping him.

And he does like to have a tantrum, doesn't he? I think it's a fairly regular occurence, and whilst I appreciate that I'm not in every evening, and not recording thorough observations, he does seem to kick up a phenomenal racket at sporadic intervals between 9 and 11pm. Sometimes, if I'm working from home, or just during the weekend, I can hear him kicking off at other hours as well. I've certainly not forgotten the time he decided all was not well with the world at 5am. He's certainly an effective substitute for an alarm clock, but could he not have waited a couple of hours?

I feel we can come to an arrangement with regards to this little issue. It has not escaped my attention that your wife is quite a slender, pretty thing of Asian extraction - you know, our landlady suspects the two of you might have met through some sort of mail order scheme, which, given your appearance, strange mannerisms and the fact that you share the house with your mother, wouldn't surprise me in the least.

But I'm deviating here. I propose forthwith that, every time your irritable little sprog starts yelling his lungs out for the whole street to hear, I shall wander over to your place, bend your missus over the kitchen table and have my way with her.

There's no need to worry, I've worked out which part of your house is the kitchen.

With best regards,
Mr S Crow
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:49, 6 replies)

Dear Condoleezza (ex-sexytary of state, but always sexytary of my heart)
You are the most sexy woman on earth. You are sexy because you emanate pure evil, and that turns me on.
Many would say that your master was the truly evil one, but i know better. I know it wasn't an act - he truly was too stupid to be evil. You were the brains in that relationship. And the body.
The two of you were like God and Lucifer. God was a type of idiot savant, able to create everything but unable to comprehend what he had created, or the fact that he could not possibly exist. You were his greatest creation, lightbringer, and you were behind his most influential work. Let's not even talk of "Gabriel". That Zionist buffoon couldn't even fire a rifle without shooting the wrong man. You always knew who to shoot, and how to do it.
When half of the world protested, saying that your master was bringing doom unto us all, I knew better. I saw you in the background, creating an unstable base for his lies and deceit to propagate, hating you and lusting after you in equal measures.
You made this world the dangerous place it is, and you did it without anyone noticing. But i noticed, Condi. I also noticed the way your brow furrows when you contemplate your next victim. I would happily have your brows furrowed at me, my love, for one night of ecstasy and agony with you.

XXXX
( 100% Cock Raw like carrots., Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:46, 2 replies)

LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF
Right, you snot nosed little shit – turn off that bloody Cure record, turn your brain on for two minutes and read this.

For starters: YOU ARE NOT VANILLA ICE !!! You’ll go through a teenage phase of wearing baseball caps backwards, walking round with your arse half hanging out and saying shit like: “Wussup, bee-aaa-tttcchh???” This makes you look like an utter, colossal, monumental wanker. You are not a Beastie Boy. You are not the next big thing in rap music. You are a simpleton. Just don’t do it.

The first time a girl lets you go down on her don’t clamp your lips round her piss n sweat flavoured weeping black hole and blow with all your might as if you’re playing the fucking tuba. This will end in tears; your tears after she involuntarily clamps her legs together and crushes your skull between her thunder thighs while simultaneously clawing at the top of your head with her adamantine claw strength glued on false nails.

Don’t ever grow your hair long. If you do this you’ll bear a remarkable resemblance to Ralph out of The Muppets. And let’s face it no one in their right mind is going to shag a bloke who looks like a talking dog who plays piano who constantly gets upstaged by a talking frog with rickets.

If you ever end up in a club in Manchester and start chatting with a girl named Susan, don’t take her home and fuck her. Might make you feel like Billy Big Bollocks at the time, but waking up at three-thirty in the morning several days later with hot sweats and an urgent desire to piss is definitely not fun. Staggering to the toilet, getting your cock out and standing there for several minutes without any satisfying yellow hose effect is also definitely not fun. And realising when you sleepily look down at your piece there’s some weird funky grey blamanche stuff that stinks like gorgonzola gurgling out your japs eye, smearing over your hairy balls and dripping like candle wax onto the toilet rim is fucking terrifying. And let’s not even go into the who ‘visiting the clinic’ thing. Let’s just say having some burly male nurse ram something not too dissimilar to a cocktail stick down your cock and wiggle it around a bit while asking casually which football team you support is absolutely fucking horrific. So, if you bump into Susan, just walk away and have a wank instead.

Which leads me onto the carrot incident. When you’re fifteen and your parents and sister are out at the supermarket don’t, I repeat DON’T take a carrot out of the salad crisper and stick it up your arse. It will break off and you’ll spend the rest of your Saturday shitting blood trying to get the fucker back out again.

In the week when Kurt Kobain dies don’t – when Sarah Hughes starts suggestively rubbing your nutsack through your Levis in the Student Union, DON’T say: “Sorry, Sarah – I’m just feeling too sad at the moment...” You’ll regret never having a crack at that fantastic posterior for the rest of your life*.

Oh, and when you’re in your final year at Uni you and your group of inebriated halfwit mates will actually win the big pub quiz for the first and last time ever. They’ll be a tie-breaker question where you could win a rollover jackpot that no fuckers won for the whole year. We’re talking SERIOUS MONEY!!! For some unknown reason your mates will nominate you to go up in front of several hundred people to answer this tiebreaker. Now, you’ll be drunk. Very drunk. But that’s no excuse. None at all. When the fella running the quiz asks you: “Who wrote Paradise Lost?” Do not, PLEASE CHRIST-ON-A-BIKE DO NOT drunkenly slur: “Errr.... ummm.... I KNOW THIS !!! DOMESTOS !!! DOMESTOS !!!” The answer is not Domestos, you tit – MILTON !!! MILTON WROTE PARADISE FUCKING LOST, YOU THICK FUCKING CUNTY-BOLLOCK-BRAINED-MOLLOSK!!! You lost out on two grand because you got your cleaning fluid brands mixed up... two... fucking... grand...

God, I’m angry now. Gotta calm down. Let’s just leave you with this advice – if you think it’s a good idea, don’t do it. If you think it’s a bad idea, probably best to leave it alone. If you’re undecided, I dunno, toss a fucking coin - what the fuck am I - your fairy fucking godmother ???

Cheers

Your Older Self

PS – When you’re eighteen don’t get that tattoo of that snake coiled round two silver dollars on your arm. The first time you show it to someone they’ll ask: “Why have you got a green cock tattooed on your arm with bright yellow balls?” And you’ll hear this at least another couple of hundred times before you actually save up enough money to get it covered up with something decent.

PPS – If there was some way I could write down the winning lottery ticket numbers for last week and give them to you I would. I fancy a nice life living in Monaco with a couple of supermodel girlfriends, a Ferrari, a helicopter and free access more drugs than you find in your average A & E department.

PPPS – The Cure are shit. Their lead singer sounds like he’s got his testicles stuck in a mincer and he looks like a very bad transvestite on . But don’t worry – you’ll grow out of it.


*Sarah Hughes, if you happen to be a B3tan please gaz me. No strings, I just want a quick jump or at least the chance to crank one off over your voluptuous heaving bottom.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:45, 14 replies)

Letter to two "friends"
Dear C & B,

You’re possibly both wondering why we never get in contact anymore. There are a number of reasons for this seemingly inexplicable oversight on our part, which I shall try to outline to the best of my ability. Unfortunately, I am unable to do it in words of one syllable, so you will have to forgive me for this. I hope you are able to adequately keep up. Where to start?

I suppose the first point is one of reciprocation. We (and I mean our circle of friends here, not just me and the missus) kind of got a bit pissed off at inviting you both out for drinks after you would consistently make excuses for reasons why you couldn’t go (BAKING FFS? ON A SATURDAY NIGHT??) I'm afraid that after about three years of this we just got sick of asking. Sorry.

Similarly, we started to get narked at the fact the only way we could catch up was if we went round to yours for a night in. Now, I’m quite fond of a night in with mates; really, I am. But my idea of a good night in does not extend to seeing the pair of you superglued together on the couch, watching you watching Return of the King. The Special Edition. For four hours. Granted, your hospitality skills started to get a bit better when we were given the option of which pirated DVD we would like to watch. I note that our comment “couldn’t we just put some music on and talk”, got a bit lost on you though.

Then there was our wedding. Ah, yes. You never responded to voicemails, emails or text messages about it. Apparently, you never got them. Massive technology fail! Wow, I know the missus is a bit of a techno-luddite at times, but she has mastered the art of communication by electronic means. Perhaps all of our electronic communications devices were faulty? Although nobody else seemed to have problems at the time. Perhaps it was down to sunspots. So, yeah – when we eventually managed to speak to you about our impending nuptials, you refused to come on account of R was going to be there. You never wanted to see him again, apparently, not after what he did to B. As far as we can see the only thing he did to B was give him a vastly overpaid job for fetching and carrying and not getting blown up on a building site for three years. Which B then decided one day he wasn’t going back to, without actually telling R this. Yeah, R’s a cunt and no mistake. You made that quite clear when you gave D a Christmas card last year, which was made out to her alone. I’m sorry to report that she ripped it up and left if on the floor of the pub. You should have been there; it was such a laugh. But you were probably too busy baking.

So, OK, you don’t want to attend our wedding, for reasons best known to yourself. However, you then completely failed to acknowledge the fact that we were getting married when I saw you the very next day. Not a flicker. You did offer me a lettuce from your allotment, which was kind, I suppose, but I declined (if I hurt your feelings over that, I’m sorry). And then, at the time of the wedding itself, nothing, not even a card. A bit disappointing, but perhaps you’d forgotten. I forget stuff all the time. Funny, then, that when I bumped into up the street a few months ago (and my slightly sideways walk was a combination of still being horribly hungover and also trying to avoid you), the first thing that B said was “Aboot yu weddin’; it wuz nowt personal t’ ye, mind”. Aye, whatever. Fuck off.

Finally, I would just like to say that the Christmas cards you posted through our door, with a note asking us to pass on to X,Y and Z “when we see them”, didn’t actually get delivered on account of us not being your personal postage service. So if you’re wondering why you perhaps didn’t get anything in return, that’s the reason. Sorry and all that, but you live roughly the same distance from everyone as we do, and you do have your own transport. I know B’s as tight as a gnat’s arse and was probably trying to save money on petrol, but you also both have bikes. I suggest that you both get on them.

Yours, with increasing disdain,

DG
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:34, 2 replies)

Cillit Bang
Dear Barry Scott,

Please stop shouting. I have used the products you endorse to clean my kitchen and bathroom to a satisfactory standard, but your shouting brings back repressed abuse memories.

Thank You

TexasPete

P.S. Also don't let idiotic people make substandard Dance music tracks of your shouting. They haunt my dreams.
(TexasPete enjoyed being sexually molested by your Father on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:24, Reply)

dear women
i like breasts

love,
broadsword xx
( broadsword w⚓, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:07, 4 replies)

Dear job applicant's mum
the job advert your daughter replied to specifically stated that the position offered with my company required a good basic knowledge of working with Photoshop and other Adobe apps on PC and/or Mac.

When you called some weeks later to complain about your daughter not having had the 'common courtesy' of a reply to her application, I apologised to you for the 'oversight'.

I now wish to withdraw that apology. I hadn't realised who we were talking about. Under 'relevant experience' on the application form your daughter wrote "piano tuning", so it went straight into the bin.

Yours etc.

MisterPunch
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:02, 4 replies)

Dear emotional vampires
I really don't care about your history or your "issues". When I say "hi, how are you?" then unless you've got cancer or a broken leg or have just this minute been dumped the answer I want to hear is "fine thanks, you?".

If I've given you the chance to act like an adult and you've squandered it on adolescent attention seeking then this is your problem, not mine. I am off to hang out with those friends of mine who want to have a good time, not a bad time. If you want to sit on the floor looking miserable so that people will come and ask you what's wrong I will ignore you, and if you try to drag me off for a chat because you claim "it's really important that you understand how I feel!" then I will politely but firmly answer with "not to me it isn't" followed by a not so polite "now fuck off" if needed.

Don't get me wrong, I will always be there for my friends and I think my past actions have proved this beyond doubt, but I'm the one who gets to say who is and who isn't my friend. Don't act like I owe you something because we've been out for a few beers - if you make an assumption you make an ass out of u and umption.

Cheers then,
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 13:00, 9 replies)

Dear B3tan.
I really like you a lot but I'm too shy to ask you out. I figure we have loads in common and would be great together. We could spend our days throwing cats at windows and gurning like a mong and when the sun goes down we could do that thing were we get naked and rub up against each other until the friction of our bodies makes our noses bleed.

I know I'm a lot older than you and will probably start to loose control of my bowels in a few years but hell, no-one said relationships are easy and I know you have a strong stomach after seeing Goatse and Tub-girl.

You'll never know who you are because I'm too much of a wimp to say anything but one day maybe, I may MTFU and gaz you.

Love Blousie
( girlinthehole, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:52, 20 replies)

Dear Salad Factory
A 2-slice portion of cucumber is an inadequate component of any salad, let alone one which costs £5. If Henry Ford had set up his motor car factory in Dagenham, only to reluctantly provide the occasional car component at a markup of over 1000%, the public be outraged, and rightly so. Please liberalise your portion control or be prepared to change your name to Salad Warehouse.

Yours,
Frustrated of Chancery Lane
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:48, 8 replies)

Dear Drummer for Def Leppard
I can draw a picture with both hands at the same time, are you able to do that? Why did you guys try to do anything after Pour some sugar on me? Does your missing limb ever have phantom itching or tingling?
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:46, Reply)

Dear Mr Schrödinger
We are pleased/sorry to inform you that Mr Tibbles is fine/no longer with us.

Please call if/when you observe this message

Yours
Parrot Docs Veterinary Centre
( Bootsthealchemist is barred from the Masterchef Facebook page, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:40, 5 replies)

Dear...
#...Graciela, I'm writin' this letter
Deep in the night and I'm all alone
It's nearly breakin' my heart to tell you
I'm so far away from home
I know I said I'd never cross the border
I know I promised to return to you
But I lost my job in the maquiladora
What's a simple man to do?

I met a man in Tijuana
Said he had a job for me to do
Standin' on a corner in San Diego
With a pocketful of red balloons
All I wanted was a little money
All I needed was a week or two
I never even saw the police comin'
What's a simple man to do?

Tell my mamma that I said I'm sorry
I know she didn't bring me up this way
Ask if she could light a candle for me
Pray that I'll come home someday
Oh Graciela, won't you please forgive me
I never meant to bring this shame to you
I lost my job in the maquiladora
What's a simple man to do?
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:40, Reply)

Dear Kristian Digby
Please could I have back my belt and bin liner.

Thanks,

Fuxtix
(FUXTIX Not my words, Carol, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:32, 2 replies)

Dearest Canada Post
where are they?

yours

Ian Fidel
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:29, Reply)

Dear that girl from Saturday night who looked a bit like Claire from Lost
I notice you've not replied to my text. That's cool - we only had a bit of a dance and a chat, it's not like we got engaged. I just hope you're not avoiding texting because you think I was a boring idiot. I can see how you would have got that impression, after all it was pretty late, I was pretty drunk, and it was so loud in that club that I could only smile and nod half the time rather than dazzle you with my wit and intelligence.

But most of all I hope you're not avoiding me because I was dirty dancing with your twin sister while you went off to talk to your mate. I swear it was all her and not me. Well, maybe it was 10% me.

Kind regards,
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:28, 2 replies)

Dear A. C.
Im sorry about how things turned out between us, im sorry that we can't sit down and have a chat and laugh like loons the way we used to. That night sitting in your car, the night where you said you wanted me... That made me the happiest person in the world, you have no idea what you meant to me.

Remember that night you were sitting in my house and you were hungover? We had a chat about people who can manipulate you and how they hold a strange sway over your feelings? We talked about how these people can really fuck up your happy relationship and then you agreed with me that you should just shut those people out completely.....

You see that's what you have become to me. You filled my mind full of so much bullshit about how you felt about me, you lied to your fiance about where you were and what you were doing and when I made it quite clear that there would be no phsyical side to the relationship until you were single, that's when you started the mind games and the lying.

You texted recently asking me why we couldn't be mates again, well it's because you are devious and manipulative with zero values or morals. Trying to manipulate my current partner wont work either, she pinned you for what you were in 60 seconds flat.

Anyway the point of this letter is just to let you know that I am not letting you interfere in my life again, I want nothing to do with you. Im happy with my life right now, im having a ball free from your bullshit.

You made your bed now lie in it, and stop bothering me now that your wedding day approaches.

Bamboo Steamer

(sorry for the whiney letter B3ta, im not an emo but I just needed that to be said)
( Bamboo Steamer, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:22, 2 replies)