Dear Alaska Airlines: I get it. You had this kind of aloof, loner persona going, like the new kid who always sits in the back left corner and never talks to anyone, but then it turns out he holds like four video game patents and is worth 50 million but has to finish high school in order to fulfill some weird dying wish his great uncle had. But then the Pailin family came along and jammed you up. So you decided to swing off of whatever remaining mojo Richard Branson may be able to squeeze out of his ever sagging … Continue reading DEAR ALASKA AIRLINES


Dear Shitty Mom: That’s right. I said it. You’re a shitty mom. And an even worse human being. I get it, Shitty. You’re tired. Your hole is blown out from fisting, lounging on the toilet (lid up) for countless hours while you give yourself a “home pedicure” and the ravages of gravity. Your other hole is blown out, (see: above stated reasons + years spent as drug mule/professional felching instructor.) Whoever was so stoned he forgot to pull out and blow a load on your face (a.k.a. your absent baby daddy/one time life guru) is no help. You have to … Continue reading DEAR SHITTY MOM


Dear Peasants: As the politically turbulent year of 2017 draws to a close, I have but one simple wish. That we, as a nation, can put aside our differences and band together to banish the ultra pretentious and mind numbingly empty phrase “MASTER CLASS” from our collective vocabulary. First of all, what, exactly, IS a master class? Never mind that the phrase sounds like the precise description of racial or gender domination by one group over all others. A class where you can go so some asshole can tell you why he is a “master” at life! Which basically requires … Continue reading DEAR PEASANTS 


DEAR REFU-SHES: I get it. One minute, you’re on top of the world, snacking on moldy bread crusts you found in a hole under your dead neighbor, and the next, your dreams are shattered as you are cruelly, temporarily, maybe, possibly, denied entry into a country you have never been to, know nothing about and have zero right to live in. Then, suddenly, the moldy bread crust is rendered a death sentence. Even if it’s just temporary. I mean, you didn’t think it was a death sentence before. You were fine with it. But now that you’re not getting your … Continue reading  DEAR REFU-SHES: