Dear You:

Dear Semi-Attractive Woman on the Train:

I’ve heard of giving someone “the eye”. I’ve gotten the eye once or twice myself. More aggressive people engage in something fondly known as “eye fucking”. It’s “the eye” on steroids. I’m no “eye virgin”. I’ve been “eye fucked” before.

But a step beyond all of the above is what you did to me the other day on the train. Before that day I can’t say that I’ve ever seen “eye rape”… but all that has been changed. The worst part is that it all began because I was trying to read the subway map ABOVE YOUR HEAD. I wasn’t even looking at you. (But you’ll probably tell your friends I was begging for it).

Uncomfortably violated,

Jonathon

Dear Proud Parent of a Poo,

Yes, the log you left in the toilet for me to bear witness to was magnificent, and the fine brown spray on the back of the toilet the week before was equally impressive. Please realize though, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and your artful creations in the restroom, some topped with flowing layers of used toilet paper are not as beautiful to some (all) as they are to you. A few ideas for the future:

-More than one flush, if chain broken, lift lid, and manually flush toilet — Don’t worry, it’s clean, and if not, it’s still probably cleaner than your hands.

-Wipe down the toilet. I would say pretend it’s your bum, but since I can’t vouch for your skills in cleaning that area either, just try your best.

With time and practice, you too can leave the restroom in a semi-presentable state.

Sincerely,

A user of common sense

Dear Asian Lady at Target,

We shared a moment didn’t we?  I know that we don’t know each other, but for a few seconds we were united in wonder.  I glanced over.  You glanced over.  And then we looked at each other and shrugged as we thought:

This chick in front of us at the Target in West Hollywood is a dude, right?

To his(?) credit, he did a great job of…ummm…covering things up.  I mean even though we both silently agreed, it was clear that neither one of us was really sure.  But in the end, there is no accounting for man-hands is there?  Well my new silent friend, I hope to see you again.  I wonder what mystery we’ll uncover next…

Yours in the search of truth,

Preston

And because I couldn’t resist:

Reader Submission -

Dear Bathroom Conservationist,

I appreciate your efforts to conserve toilet seat covers, however, I must say that I am reluctant to use the extra toilet seat cover that you accidentally pulled out and re-stuffed back into the dispenser.

I don’t know where your hands have been most of the time, but I know they have been to this restroom on at least one occasion, if not more, and I don’t know if I want to use a toilet seat cover that had been mangled by the hands of someone who may not have washed her hands.

Additionally, I don’t know if this toilet seat cover may have also fallen to the ground before you replaced it back in the box.  Please, in the future, throw the additional toilet seat cover away, or flush it, and find some way in your personal life to make up for this wasteful act.

Sincerely,

A user of common sense

If you’d like to submit your own “Dear You” letter, please email truthmerchants@gmail.com

Reader Submission

Dear Front Line at Chipotle’s,

When I ordered the 3 Soft Chicken Taco’s the other day, I was expecting the bang for your buck type of fillers you once served. I was utterly amazed when I asked for corn –you dropped about 6-7 kernels on each taco. You gave me a lil glimmer of sunshine. Also when I asked for cheese you gave me snow flurries instead of inches. I asked for mild salsa, and that I thought you got right until I got back to work and my mouth was ablaze. I also don’t understand the blank irritated stare you gave me when I asked for more chicken, corn and cheese…you were acting like my request was abnormal.

Now, I understand that the corn and stuff went up..but look here–your prices didn’t go down–so the next time, either throw in a 4th skimpy taco or happily oblige my request. Oh, and stop acting like the “Chipotle Big Heads” are taking the cheese out of your check!

Yours Truly,

A Chipotle Lover Wronged

If you’d like to submit your own “Dear You” letter, please email truthmerchants@gmail.com

One of our readers had a little something to say about yesterday’s post :

Dear Guy Whose House I’m Leaving,

What we had last night was nice. And I am very glad that you are not slackin on yo pimpin, as evidenced by the wood floors. However, what’s done is done, and I need to get the heck out of dodge. I am a morning person, so unless you want me prying your eyelids open because I’m bored and can’t find anything to watch on television, then I suggest you STFU about me leaving. And clearly, if I am not trying to stick around, then

1) you have not sufficiently performed in order to knock me into a blissful sleep so that I DON’T leave at whatever early hour that I’m leaving;

2) last night was fueled by hormones and/or alcohol, and I have yet to develop the care that would make me concerned about waking your arse up; or

3) because this is a standard method of knocking a dude into a near comatose state, the fact that you are awake means that you’re gay, because clearly I don’t have what you are looking for.

So, I will put on my stilettos when I damn well please, and peace out.

Signed,

JAT

Dear Ladies Leaving My House In The Morning…

It’s a wood floor.  The stairs?  Yup they’re wood too.  In fact, the only way to get to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, is to use the stairs.  So what I’m saying is — we both know you’re coming to the bedroom and we both know that the path to said bedroom is covered in wood.

So ummm…

When you’re leaving at whatever god-awful time in the morning it is — and you’re trying to “slip out” — put your heels on IN THE FOYER DOWNSTAIRS.  It’s asinine to try to walk slowly or do some kind of tippy-toe thing.  Your heels + the wood floor + whatever god-awful time in the morning it is = loud and echoing.

That’s no fun for any of us.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe in a “walk of shame”.  Fuck that.  We did what we did.  It was fun, felt good, and will probably happen again.  Everyone involved was single.  Nobody was hurt or misled.  You should walk out of my house with no shame at all.  But at the same time proud doesn’t have to equal “loud”, now does it??

I feel like that last sentence made me seem like an asshole…

Oh well.

Yours for the night,

Drew

Dear Budweiser,
First of all, thank you.  I’ve always thought that Valentine’s Day was a ridiculous excuse for a holiday and you just legitimized my stance.  It is a day for retailers to feel the love of all of our money lining their pockets.  This just shows me that there is no ceiling…or floor, whichever analogy you prefer.

You were even kind enough to throw in a beer cozy for the Bud Light cans!

How thoughtful.
Seriously, this is perhaps the funniest thing I’ve seen in ’09 and I say that about once a week.  I’m thinking about staking out this gas station just to see if anyone has the balls to buy one.  This really is a good idea though.  I might buy a few for some broads that have pissed me off before!  A double deuce of Bud and a plastic rose.  What better way to say F you?

Still LMAO,

Seymour Monet

Dear Stevie Wonder’s Manager,

Someone should smack you in the mouth!  You should be fired…and then maybe smacked in the mouth again.  (Note: If Stevie’s manager is a woman, we’ll need a woman volunteer for the smacking.  I don’t condone men hitting women.  I do condone people getting smacked when they do colossally stupid things).  And what you had him do at the Grammy’s was colossally stupid!

Why was Stevie — a musical genius, legend, and icon — performing onstage with the most notorious fad in music history — a boy band?  Watching the Jonas Brothers prance around Stevie, while trying to remember the lyrics to “Superstition” (which I’m positive they learned this weekend) was a nauseating disgrace.  How often do we get to watch Stevie perform like that anymore?  2 maybe 3 times a year?  And you mar it with these guitar playing, pre-pubescent, virgin toolboxes!  I’m getting angry all over again just typing this!  I hope you’re a man…so I can smack you.

And of course, to top it all off, you managed to get Stevie’s solo performance placed AT THE END OF THE SHOW!  Good job, buddy!  That’s my favorite way to watch a legend perform — interlaced with Delta and Hilton commercials!  Chris Brown AND Rihana drop out of the show at the last minute and I STILL can’t see all of Stevie’s performance?!?  Seriously????

Oh and by the way—WTF Chris?!

In conclusion — watch your back Stevie Wonder’s Manager.  I may be hiding in the bushes waiting to slap you.  I may just stick my hand out of the car window and do a drive-by smacking.  I may fed-ex that hand from The Addam’s Family to you and when you open the package — have it slap you.  But much like Santa Claus — you’re gonna pay what you owe !!

Yours in outrage,

Preston

Dear Facebook,

Let’s  be real with each other “facebook friends” are a different thing.  I have 211 friends on facebook — I regularly talk to about 4 of them on the phone or in person.  The number goes to 10 or 15 if you include the occasional email.  So I ask you:

Why in the Sam Hell do I need to know 25 random things about these fools!

You have to put a stop to this, Facebook!  Yesterday, someone from college asked to be my friend.  I accepted…3 seconds later he tagged me with that stupid post!  Please outlaw it or something.  It’s annoyance is only topped by it’s proliferation.  Can you think of anything more useless than 185 people that I haven’t talked to for anywhere ranging from 10 months to 10 years telling me TWENTY FIVE RANDOM things???

I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!!

Here is a the perfect example of what I’m talking about.  It’s called Facebook In Real Life:

Randomly yours,

The Facebook Hurler