Landlord with thick Hispanic accent

Dear Landlord with thick Hispanic accent,

The "b" is silent in the word "plumber" and you've clearly added a dash in the middle of it. Oh and thanks for selling my home.

Love,
Drew

Ice cold toilet seat at 7AM

Dear Ice cold toilet seat at 7 AM,

Really? Fuckin' really?

Love,

Drew

Man in grocery line with odd selection of goods

Dear Man in grocery line with odd selection of goods,

I couldn't help but notice your purchases as you causally cut me off into the express lane at Dominick's this afternoon. From what I gathered you were buying a assortment of scented candles. And aside from the candles one Jimmy Dean Sausage log. Needless to say I have a few questions. Did you come into the store with the candles in mind and just couldn't pass up on the amazing breakfast meat sale? Or perhaps you wanted the sausage and noticed the pomegranate lavender candles your mom? girlfriend? pet lizard? really likes. The scariest conclusion, and judging by the sweatpants in public, most logical one would be that you wanted some sausage but really wanted to make an evening of it. Well, I hope it turns out. Make sure you blow the candles out after personally consuming a pound and a half of maple sausage-- wouldn't want to burn your lizard. Because god knows your mother, or anyone else you're currently sleeping with, wouldn't let you out of the house in a hoodie with no sleeves.

Love,

Drew

Old lady with a Pretzel Dog

Dear Old Lady with a Pretzel Dog,

Thanks so much for choosing to sit next to me on the train. Also I'd like to thank you for purchasing a Pretzel Dog before you decided to sit next to me. I thought that just a nice older woman had plopped down next to me but I had underestimated you. You weren't just some ancient creature with a strong scent of attic and death. No. You, ma'am, were a full blown crazy old bat who pulled a half eaten, and might I say HUGE, pretzel dog from your purse. Alone, you smell, a lot. But you've opted to add to your musk the scent of steamed processed meat and old pretzel dough. Bold choice to be sure. I imagine your cats never complain so I guess you wouldn't know any better. I'm writing to inform you that the odor of the Auntie Anne's famous recipe coupled with your self produced perfume is enough to make me want to derail this commuter train. I say this with compassion. Clearly you've a very sad life as made evident by the purse seemingly filled with hot dogs you hold on your lap. So, if you wouldn't mind either A.) Bathe B.) Finish the hot dog directly after you purchase it or C.) fucking sit somewhere else.

Love,

Drew