It’s a new year, and that means another opportunity for us all to assess our lives and confront some difficult and unfortunate shortcomings. We all have them, and in past years, I’ve resolved to stop peeing in my neighbor’s garden at night, start wearing socks to work, and stop singing Billy Joel hits in a high falsetto while waiting in line at Safeway.
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My name’s not Steve, it’s Stephen. Next time you presume to know someone well enough to abbreviate their god-given birth name, you might do well to pick someone without a criminal record and an undiagnosed personality disorder upon whom to test the bounds of your familiarity.
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This is going to be the absolute greatest militia the state of Oregon has ever seen, and I for one am excited that you all have decided to join.
As the founder and head of this militia, I would like to establish some ground rules.
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This is going to be an excellent vacation, and I for one am excited. I love a good cruise, and you and I are going to have such a good time.
As we embark on this wonderful excursion, I’d like to get something out of the way because I’ve found that it’s often better to say things directly so as to avoid any misunderstanding either now or in the future: If this Carnival cruise ship capsizes and we end up on a deserted island, I promise not to eat you.
Re: Potluck lunch
Dear Barbara et al.,
I think Barbara’s idea of holding a departmental potluck lunch meeting this Friday is fantastic, and I’d like to be the first to respond to the invitation. (Sorry! I guess it’s just my enthusiasm for Barbara’s great ideas!)
Being the first, I guess I’ll offer to bring the desert! Rest assured that I won’t bring just some store-bought desert purchased in a mad dash at the Walmart on my way to work following another fight with my abusive, closeted homosexual husband, either. (I won’t mention any names here, LISA! LOL! JK!)
I recommend that you take a moment to listen—I mean really sit and listen to the lyrics of those Christmas carols that you so freely sing without a moment’s consideration as to the twisted sentiments to which you’re giving voice.
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Word on the street is that you’re my Secret Santa, and because I don’t want this to be a wasted opportunity, I thought I would describe for you exactly the gift that I will expect from you. Because a Secret Santa gift exchange is nothing short of an opportunity to impress one’s coworkers.
With this in mind, I would like you to cosign this bank loan so that I can get some boss 20-inch spinning rims for my 2002 Dodge Neon.
I don’t wish to alarm you, but I may have accidentally used a bag of homemade trail mix in place of silicone during your recent breast augmentation surgery. You might be interested to know that I actually sell my trail mix at farmer’s markets around the area as a sort of side business of mine, and so this isn’t as unusual or unexpected as you may at first have thought.
On this, the 12 ½-hour anniversary of our connecting via OkCupid, I wanted to do something special that would attest to the sincerity of my truest feelings for you and demonstrate that I am just the kind of man for which you have been scouring the internet.
That is why I have sent you these several tasteful pictures of my dick.
