An Open Letter To Joe The Plumber

Dear Joe Wurzelwhateverthefuck,

As of tonight, Joe, your services are no longer required. Don't get me wrong, feel free to continue snaking all sorts of rank shit out of Ohio's plugged-up toilets and septic systems. The state's flatulent masses need you. Just don't start your own business, or write a book, or run for Congress, or record a crappy country western album, or sign on to anchor a show on Fox News alongside that creepy Sean Hannity guy, 'cause there's a new Redistributionist in Chief coming to Washington... and you, my friend, are shit outta luck.

Except for the 'shit' part, obviously. You'll never be shit outta shit. As a plumber, there will always be plenty of feces. But I don't need to tell you that.

But don't be sore, Joey P. Sure, it sucks to be you. And also, too, Palin. And McCain. And all those red states that Barack Obama doesn't think exist. But on the bright side, for the rest of us -- the overwhelming electoral majority of us -- it feels pretty damn good to say at last...

Barack Obama is President-Elect of the United States of America.

An Open Letter To Blogger

Dear Blogger Support Staff,

Whenever I try to edit a post you tell me, "We're sorry, but we were unable to complete your request." Listen, you don't have to lie. I know you're not sorry. And I know you didn't really try to complete my request, so "unable" isn't all that accurate either.

I wish the error message said it like it is. Maybe something like, "Oh, looks like you can't edit your posts. Tough shit. There's no support staff. But you can try your luck at the rinky-dink Blogger Error Code Message Board. Sure it's staffed by morons who have no intention of answering your question. Sure the chances it will actually help you are remote, at best. But it makes us look like we're trying (even though we're not)."

By the way, I'm fairly certain there's no such thing as Blogger support staff, which more or less precludes the fact that you care.

Love,
Evan

P.S. Please stop taunting me with incomprehensible error messages; "bX-yipc2c" means nothing to me. And you don't know what it means either.

An Open Letter To February 29th

Well, well, well... Look who finally decided to show up on the calendar. Fucking deadbeat.

Of all the things that happen once every four years, you, February 29th, are undoubtedly the worst. The earth has one job: Revolve around the sun. But since it can't do that properly, we have to add a day onto the calendar once every four years. You are that day. You realize this, don't you? You're a mistake, February 29th! A technicality.

My real issue is not with you, though; it's with your people. You know who I'm talking about. The leap babies. Every time I meet one of your snooty, unfunny offspring, I'm reminded why I hate you. Did you know that it requires an unhealthy amount of self-restraint on the part of humanity to smile and nod when one of your bastard children exclaims his age, as if it's really funny when he says he's turning 6 when he's actually 24? Well it does. When your people were 8, and they told people it was their second birthday during show and tell, it was cute. When they're 40, and they joke about being underage to the bartender, it's sad and pathetic. And you're responsible.

You're also fucking up the month song. Bigtime. It starts off like a fucking Dickens novel, but then you come along and ruin it.

Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
All the rest have thirty-one
Except February alone:
Which has twenty-eight 3 years in four,
Till Leap Year gives it just one more.

Are you kidding me? You need half the song to explain that? When I have kids, and I teach them the month song, it's gonna be different. None of this Leap Year favoritism. It will end, "except for February, because the Gregorian calendar is a piece of worthless shit."

That's about it, I guess. See you in four years.

Warm regards,
Evan

P.S. I don't recall anyone asking for an extra day in February. Ever. It's fucking cold, asshole. If you want your own special day, the least you could do is come back in the spring.