Congratulations on a good report card from your first trimester of middle school. Your grades reflect your responsible attitude and hard work. I know you are very pleased that only one of your teachers commented that you talk too much in class, but let’s get that down to zero in second trimester, shall we?
For future reference, “she’s worse than you!” is not the correct way to describe your coworker’s wife to me, even if you are just talking about the dietary preferences of which you disapprove. Ignore this advice at your peril.
Dear Nancy Pelosi,
I was watching c-span at the gym the other day, and some congresscritters were bloviating away, periodically making requests for more yammering time from “Madame Speaker.” But when the camera moved to your podium, the woman doling out the time was not you. What gives? Does the Speaker of the House get a stunt double?
Dear Senator Stupak and all the other legislators that want to use women’s healthcare issues as bargaining chips,
I can’t say what I think of you because my daughter reads this blog. You may assume my remarks would have been less than complimentary.
Dear Jon Stewart,
I know, I know! I’ve missed your show every night this week, and here it is 11:05 pm and the tv is not even on. It’s not you; it’s me. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Be funny without me.