Dear Statue Liberators:

I get it. Believe me. I am NO FAN of the man. It’s like, everywhere you go in this country, you have to be reminded of some shit some fucker did, like forever ago, you know, as if NOTHING has happened since our Founding umm … “Fathers” (seems partronizing) blew into various places, killed all the native fuckers whose rules they didn’t respect, then killed a bunch of British fuckers whose rules they didn’t want to follow, and then turned around and made up an entirely new set of rules that we all still fight about.  And it’s not like you can get away from these ancient blowhards. Their faces are on our money, states that didn’t even exist (see: Washington) when they were alive bear their names and are comprised of numerous roads, towns, buildings et al, which serve as constant reminders of the greatness which was colonial America, pre-Civil War America, pre-Civil Rights America, pre-politically correct America. 

You know. The REAL America.

The America where there was no such thing as our current “Vulgarian in Chief” – a white, Ivy League educated son of a wealthy family who rose to prominence by mastering his public relations arena. No, no. These men were better than that. They were white, Ivy League educated sons of wealthy families who rose to prominence by mastering their respective public relations arenas. And owned slaves. And viewed their daughters as chattel. And took, like one bath a week. 

You know. GREAT men. 

Men like Abraham Lincoln. A populist and self proclaimed Republican, (capital R) who used the force of the federal government in a blood soaked attempt to prevent individual states from seceding from the union. Ask yourself this. Did America really NEED the south? Aside from the ports and agricultural revenues, what good was the south to the culturally superior north? I mean, it’s not like anyone in New York swells with pride over the thought of what goes on in South Carolina. (Well…not until they want a smoke, or their kids flat line all their respective Ivy/New England collegiate options and are exiled to the College of Charleston on a partial field hockey scholarship.) And let’s face it.  An ultra progressive place like Boston does NOT want to know that an ass backwards place like Texas even exists. (Uhh… not until they need competitively priced gas, or a steak to pair with one of those super humanely tanked live lobsters that they execute on demand for $70 a pop.) Plus, you know, GEORGIA (prison colony)… it seems like Honest Abe COULD have just let them go, man! I mean, why harsh their vibe? The people had spoken, dude! They wanted out! 

What is an American president to do? Hmm… maybe use an executive order to suspend habeas corpus? Or maybe, use, like fifty executive orders over two years!!! 

That seems extreme.  You know, just because you’re the president and everything that doesn’t mean you get to just use executive order to force Louisiana to tighten up their game and behave more like New Hampshire. Geez. I mean, that shit really pisses people off. People start doing things like calling the president a dictator and threatening his life. 

Wait. What?

You mean Abraham Lincoln, THE Abraham Lincoln, our sainted, slain savior used EXECUTIVE ORDER to force some states to do what people in other states wanted them to do? 

Next, you’ll be telling me he started drafting civilians, forcing them to carry out the demands only of one branch of the government! 


But he freed the slaves!!! Right?? I mean, it doesn’t matter HOW he did it. He did it! I mean, sure that wasn’t exactly, totally WHY he suspended everyone’s constitutional rights in the beginning. But by the end? They were freed! (They also had no place to live, but that became Grant’s problem…)  So here’s an idea. Let’s plaster his fucked up face all over the country! Let’s put him on more than one form of currency. Let’s erect a huge monument to him. Let’s name a bunch of towns and streets and schools after him. We did it for Washington, and all that asshole ever did for us was tell the British to fuck off, refuse to become a king, and cockblock Ben Franklin from taking over literally EVERYTHING IN AMERICA. (I mean, how many things can one person invent/discover/write in one lifetime? STEP OFF, BF!!! We get it. YOU’RE SMART!!! Leave some for the rest of us. WTF? #antitrust) 

Here’s the thing. 

Lincoln was a dick. That’s how he got to be president. Just like every other asshole who has ever run this country. Think about any organization you have ever belonged to. Think about who ended up being the “president” of that organization. Was that person humble? Or did that person become a leader because he believed he was the best person to tell every other loser in his wake how to think? I’m not sure who decided that humility was even a good quality, let alone a quality of leadership, but rest assured, the latter is a fallacy. Humble people do NOT invoke fifty executive orders over two years. That would be like the president of your home owners association trying to annex the housing development next to you, (because all the home owners associations in your neighborhood needed even more fake levels of authority, so they formed one big HOA and elected your guy to administrate) then forcing all you fuckheads to get on your riding lawnmowers and form a blockade to stop them from going to Safeway instead of Ralph’s and then claiming in the aftermath that it was in the name of immigration reform because Safeway employs more Mexican-American’s than Ralph’s does. 

In other words, Lincoln was just a guy. Like the doucher you elected to enforce parking regulations in order to keep your property values high. 

Another guy, who was just a guy? 

Robert E. Lee, commander of the Confederacy who is depicted in this statue behind me. And Lee was ALSO a dick. A West Point dick. Which is really next level when compared to the Ivy’s. Lee was such a dick, in fact, that he told Lincoln to fuck off instead of becoming a top commander of the Union army. Lee proclaimed loyalty to his home state of Virginia, and, by default, the Confederacy. 

Both of these men were prominent in American history. One, a winner by today’s standards. One, a loser. And for whatever reason, millions of tax dollars have been used to plaster images of these two, and numerous other men (and one or two women) all over America. And for some reason, people are JUST NOW realizing how fucking stupid this idea has always been. For this latest controversy, I have only one question:


We are not a nation of men. We are a nation of ideas. Lincoln mastered despotic leadership and was ultimately rewarded with the enduring legacy of being the most admired leader in our nations history. Why? Because AMERICANS did the right thing. Europeans brought slaves to America, and some generations later, Americans freed them. Lincoln has little to do with it. But no politician can allow the public to realize that ideas are the magic! So we HAVE to keep pledging our “patriotism” to actual people. Otherwise, these elected dickbags would be out of business. No one needs a monument to Lincoln. No one needs this statue. It’s just some dude on a horse. Despite their shortcomings, the shortcomings that ALL men possess, the saggy cockmasters who wrote our constitution did one thing very right. They made that document both strong and fluid. It is because of that document, and the ideas that it encompasses, that Americans have the freedom to build this statue. And the freedom to tear it down. 

No flag, statue or monument to any man is needed when we have a document that lets our ideas continue to be freely expressed. 

Everyone who is desperately clinging to these shrines? Relax. You’ll be dead before any real change ever takes place. It took a century before Jim Crow was busted, and it will take another before the effects of the ‘war on drugs” (Jim Crow2: Electric Bugaloo) are eliminated. No one is “taking” anything from you, ok? You can have as many Al Hamilton/FDR/ML King/Chavez/Ruth Bader Ginsburg replicas you want to have in your house. You can make the confederate flag into a tampon so you can feel at one with the old South while you “capture” your uterine lining. You can make a sex doll that looks exactly like Harry S. Truman, and demand that he “drop the big one” on your chest while you listen to the Star Spangled Banner. 

Stop fighting over stupid shit. Notice that no one is trying to tear down the Liberty Bell. 

Think about it.


PS. Would somebody PLEASE tear down the Liberty Bell? That fucking crack kills my OCD. Thanks.



Dear Hurrricane Harvey Heroine:

I don’t have very many life goals.

Or any.

But if I DID, being a big enough badass to be chilling in a recliner, rocking a Flashdance style  off the shoulder top, wearing no bra, and calmly finishing a needlepoint project as filthy flood water rises, threatening to choke the life out of me, would be at the top of the list.

You are my new life mentor/only old person I like since my grandmother died at age 101 on the heels of winning her nursing home Wii Bowling Championship.

Get it, grandma.


PS. I want a needlepoint of you doing needlepoint. #drosteeffect

PPS. Don’t mess with Texas.


Dear Back To School Buttholes:
It’s that time of year again. That’s right. The time where every American parent of children twenty five years old and under posts a cluster of awkward pictures of their progeny headed back to prison – I mean “school” – for yet another tedious nine months of state sponsored brainwashing. And just like every other artificially imposed milestone we have in this country, it is fucking meaningless.  

Before you bother asking, yes, I CAN believe that another year has flown by. Do you know why? Because I always have super deep thinkers like you fuckers to let me know. I mean, hey, without your constant reminders of socially imposed structural measures, I might not view my life that way at all! In fact, I might simply enjoy my life, day by day, oblivious to the concept of achievement on the spectrum of a mass linear scale. I might think that every day offers multiple opportunities to demonstrate knowledge, growth, athleticism, obedience (barf), good citizenship and (if you’re lucky) an occasional epic practical joke. I might think that there are numerous ways to learn. That any place you go can become a classroom if you are open to growth. That all the kids in my neighborhood whose parents shacked up in the same area mine did, and their corresponding perspectives, are not actually representative of what the world has in store for me.

But noooooo…

Every August the predictable lamentations roll in.

To wit: … time is going too fast… it seems like only yesterday that she was a baby… how can he already be in ninth grade? It doesn’t seem possible… why do they grow up so fast? She will always be my baby… and (my favorite) I wish they could stay little forever…

Uhh…  I don’t. Little kids suck. They ask too many questions and contribute virtually nothing. You can’t cuss around them, they can’t cook their own food or drive. And EVERYTHING is always about them. “Mommy, I need you to tie my shoes.” “Mommy, I don’t like this cartoon, that Cartman kid is mean. Can’t we watch Dexter’s Laboratory instead?” “Mommy, it’s three in the afternoon when are you going to get out of bed?’

It’s fucking endless.

Here’s the thing. Each of the nearly twenty four years I have been a parent has seemed like AT LEAST 365 days. Some years, (mainly the middle school torture chamber era), seemed like 1000 days. I don’t know what kind of built in sieve everyone else’s brain seems to contain, but it most certainly does NOT seem like “yesterday” that my child was a baby. I remember the important shit, like the time she rolled off the changing table because I turned around to answer the phone, the fact that she sat in her crib and chattered at me until I let her out no matter what time of day or night it was and (most importantly) that she was headbanging to “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” and quoting “Ren and Stimpy” by age two. Or the four step “revenge plot” my younger one hatched up against her preschool teachers aide when she was three because said aide dared to admonish the child for holding hands during carpool pick up.

Do I remember even one of their grades or test scores? I do not. I DO remember my younger one telling her sixth grade English teacher that she “hates to read” and fighting me every year to get out of advanced math because the class was “all nerds” and not one of her friends was in there. She was instructed to find smarter friends.

I’m still waiting…

But I digress.

Progress is rarely linear. That we feel the need to force that illusion of a continuum on children from birth, with stupid shit like “Mommy and Me” and scheduled “play dates” (that’s right, I’m a player hater, so fuck off) all the way through Phi Beta Kappa (which sounds like what Caesar used to give Brutus at the end of a reacharound) and “double majors” is absolutely suffocating. People get things when they get them, ok? There is no age limit. Some people never get anything. So what? Where’s the inherent greatness in understanding the system? I see the financial reward in understanding the system. But there’s no moral imperative here.

Using arbitrary timeframes to measure success is, in itself, a failure. That certain people show a proclivity towards conformity is not necessarily a benefit to society. And there is no more irritating measure of conformity than the institution of the American school. Except for church. (That’s why I just blew it out and sent mine to Catholic school so they could learn to resent both forms of authority in half the time. #germanefficiency)

Do us all a favor. Enjoy the fact that your children are becoming independent and save the histrionics for important shit, like your daughters third pregnancy scare or that time your son gets caught vaping on the band trip to the Ozarks, then bullshits his way out of it, but then gets pulled back into it because it turns out he quit his job at Chili’s over a year ago and became a drug lord.

You’re exhausting.

PS. Did I tell you my daughter is on the honor roll?


Dear BananaRammer: 
There was once a time when Southwest Airlines was the gold standard for cool, funky, laid back flying. Herb Kelleher parlayed something that was typically a stuffy, uptight nightmare into a kitschy, lighthearted free for all; complete with stampede seating and employees who appeared to actually enjoy their jobs. Jokes were part of the schtick, and the customer was in on the riff. It was like… “hey guys, we know this sucks. Let’s just cop a good attitude and make the best of it…” and the staff led by example. Their attitude was infectious. When you flew Southwest, it was basically the airline equivalent of the family truckster. So bad, it was good. 

Flash forward 25 years, and this company, much like Congress, is now overrun with substandard, lazy, entitied hacks like you. So bad that you’re just SO bad. Not Michael Jackson “Bad” where the experience was still predicated on a certain amount of open irony and tongue in cheek with the audience, (ok, uhh… maybe not the best Michael Jackson reference, tongue in YOUR OWN cheek, not tongue wedged in between MacCauley Culkins ass cheeks.) I mean, MAYBE it’s the same thing. But your constant scowl tells me that you aren’t having much fun. And if you can think of rimjobbong MacCauley Culkin as anything LESS than humor? You need to report to your new job as head fact checker for CNN/ Rachel Maddow-Sean Hannity hairdresser post haste.

But I digress.

There was a time when Southwest flight attendants actually aided passengers in placing bags into bins, made light conversion, smiled and didn’t allow their bloated status as potential future Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon/spokeswoman for menopause supplements, to cause them to take their bitter life disappointments out on unsuspecting regular customers who pay more than you earn in a week to jam themselves into a coffin on wings with a bunch of other people whose decision making revolves around paying a premium in the hopes that they can cancel their flight without penalty and never see any of you again. There really IS no other salient reason at this point to book a flight on Southwest. We all do it so we have the option to get the fuck out of the contract at any time and avoid you fuckers altogether. That’s your current business model. You’ve gone from “we’re all in this shitty thing together” to “we are total dicks who make something shitty shittier, BUT! We offer refunds!”

Here’s a tip:

When the customers overriding goal is to find a contract they can enter into then break with you, you’re probably not meeting the customers needs. How much is it worth to you to NEVER see your in laws again? That much? That’s what I thought. 

Double it. 

To say that my expectations of your airline are low at this point, seems superfluous. It’s sort of like saying that somehow you still expect men to pretend that they care what your last name is after you blow them (with teeth) and then want to have a lengthy chat about some shit that went down with your best friends cats anal fistula surgery that somehow went tragically wrong and resulted in her housekeepers daughters boyfriend getting deported but the thing is he’s white and who knew that white people can get deported? 

So, you know, I wasn’t exactly expecting anything ny the way of actual, measurable service from you.

What I was ALSO not expecting? You standing  there staring at a petite young girl trying to lift her bag up into a bin without offering to help, and then admonishing me when I tried to help. Warning me to “be careful not to smash my bananas” which were apparently in the bag next to mine. Then following up your criticism by sighing audibly, stomping over and securing your own bag in a separate bin, therefore depriving another paying customer of space, remarking “there’s nothing worse than smashed bananas.”

Are you sure? Nothing? 

Except, maybe, flying on Southwest. 

It would appear you had enough strength and spare time to take care of your own bag, but neither of those things were available to you merely seconds earlier to help the struggling, paying customer who was too short to reach the bin.


I don’t approve of fat shaming. I have weighed over 200 pounds as an adult, myself. And I actually don’t care at all how much people weigh. But what I’m going to say, is that no one on the plane believes that you have “bananas” in that fucking bag. If I had to guess I would think it was something more like a banana shaped dildo that you were afraid would become inadvertently activated. Or maybe your favorite butt plug that you use on a search and destroy mission for whatever is permanently wedged up your asshole. Your striking resemblance to “Dog the Bounty Hunters” wife Beth, was not lost on me. Whatever the case, you are absolutely terrible at your job. The worst. Modern day passengers have all been brainwashed to buying into the lie that flight attendants are there for “our safety”, but it’s maneuvers like this that let the general public know with 100% certainty that you will be the person pushing all the passengers out of the way so that you can get your ass out first. (If it fits.) And fuck everyone else when shit goes south. You’re literally the last person in the world who I would rely on in a physical crisis. Well maybe not the last, that honor would probably go to somebody like Larry Flynt or Stephen Hawking. But you know what I mean. You are the last person with full use of their legs who I would rely on in a physical crisis. Yet, oddly, that skill literally defines your job! So I’m a little confused. 

Do the public a favor and quit right now. Get a job at a credit card call center, become a preschool teacher, maybe a secretary at a church. Jobs where everybody’s lives are already ruined. It’s 6 o’clock in the morning and nobody needs your self-centered, shitty attitude to start our day.

Either that or get a smaller butt plug,  jam it up your ass as soon as you get on the plane so that you feel the sense of relief that you are clearly seeking and can lighten the fuck up.

I’m pretty sure you can get them on eBay. There are some that were used as torture devices for years in the Philippines originally manufactured and sold by the US government, so you know they’re good. Look into it.

You’re welcome. 


PS. Yelling at me while I was trying to take this picture that “it is it illegal to take my picture without my consent” is a straight up lie. But the audible laugh I received from the other passengers when I said… “Uhh… No. But even if it was, it is certainly not illegal for me to take my own picture.”  Almost made this experience worth it. Almost.

PPS. Please bring me extra peanuts. I’m starving. Thanks. 


Dear Kathy Griffin: 
I never thought I’d live to see this day. Where I’m kind of, sort of, marginally on your side on ANY topic. I mean, I’ve suffered through the ravings of a lot of shitty comedians in my life due to my extreme disdain for social order, love of dark rooms and bizarre desire to suck down two glasses of water with a quarter shot of generic mad dog in each simultaneously to meet the two “drink” minimum while freezing my ass off and being treated like garbage by 70 year old waitresses with emphysema. 

To wit: (but not “witty”) 

David Brenner, the “Newt Gingrich” of comedians. Inexplicably hanging around for decades, like a bloated hemorrhoid, making irrelevant observations and maintaining a forum by blowing people who have actual power/talent and due to his oddly telegenic yet repugnant mane of hair. Bill Maher, who despite making his name by denying any truth to religion, hosts his show in the exact same fucked up format that Pat Robertson uses. SPOILER ALERT: Pat Robertson is actually funny. Jon Stewart, who clearly has access to a seemingly endless supply of incredible writers, yet still manages to come off like that one smarmy TA you had in Abnormal Psych who knew just enough to give the impression that he was intellectual, but remained a TA until he was thirty because he was just repeating things other people said until one day he inexplicably quit, three credits short of his masters to go live in a commune. Sarah Silverman, whose observations are so pedestrian she makes Joy Behar look like Ruth Bader Ginsburg. And Dane Cook. (No explanation needed) 

Yet even in this varied and spectacular group of egomaniacal sadists, you stand alone among them, like Milli or Vanilli (whichever one is still alive because unlike the dead one, he fails to realize how insignificant his talent actually is) singular in your appalling lack of self awareness and talent. But unlike the handsome Vanilli and/or Milli, you are also a visual train wreck. Unappealing on every aesthetic level possible. And to a large degree, this is why you are not the least bit funny. Ugly out, ugly in. 

But somehow, like that one zit on my left ass cheek that gets flat for awhile but never quite goes away, you are STILL AROUND. Sometimes you look different, like when the zit gets an ingrown hair in the mix and turns a weird shade of yellow. No matter what physical form you take, you are, at your core, still an infected, oozing, annoying often painful aberration that exists only to remind others what a perfect, smooth ass cheek looks like by contrast. Why is this kind of ugliness needed in this world? After much contemplation, I finally realized. 

This IS your purpose. 

Without hideousness, there can be no beauty. Without the unfunny, there can be no funny. How can anyone truly appreciate the comic genius of a Trey Parker or a Larry David without people like you who are such resounding failures at the same craft?  

So, in a way, we all owe you a debt of gratitude. Most people who are as seemingly terrible at what they do as you are would have hung it up and gone back to the safe harbor of obscurity decades ago! But I finally realized that the reality is, you are NOT terrible at what you do. You are the best at what you do! Which is being the least funny, most irritating cunt in the public eye! You have no peer! I mean sure, Chelsea Handler tried to steal the mantle from you there for a while. But she doesn’t have your stamina, complete lack of originality, ability to stop fucking her bosses, unfortunate gene pool or direct hotline to a squatty potty 24/7. 

Here’s a tip. When I was a kid and my brother pushed things too far, my mother repeatedly said to him, “learn when to quit.” I understand that you view yourself as a comedian. You’re not one, but you think you are. So you think it is your job to push boundaries and this is what you attempted to do with your recent publicity stunt featuring the bloody likeness of Donald Trump’s head. You have now followed this up with the most ludicrous, embarrassing and childish set of apologies I’ve ever read. Much like a hooker trying to escape Mickey Rourke’s vacation dungeon, you literally begged everyone in the world for a second chance. Or a third chance. Or whatever. 

Here’s the thing. You’re wasting your time. No one ever took you seriously in the first place. You can’t beg for a second chance when you never had a first one. You need to just lean into this. This is America. You showed an image of Trumps’s severed head. Distasteful? Certainly. Funny? Negative. But then again, nothing you do is funny. So why limit yourself to apologizing for this? If you’re going to apologize you need to apologize for your entire career! 

Otherwise just nut it up and tell all these people to fuck off. No one with one functional brain cell thinks that this nonsense is a death threat. I don’t particularly like it, but it’s free speech. All of these hypocrites who are trying to censor you are totally full of shit. Where were they all these years when you were torturing us with your lack of talent and they made absolutely zero attempt to censor you? That’s when they would’ve been doing us all a favor. You should tell them all to go fuck themselves and just own it. The fact that you are not doing that only gets you one step closer to Milli. Or Vanilli. You know. The dead one. 

Grow a pair.


PS: Girl, you know it’s true.