From an Angry Wife

Dear Idiot Brother-in-law,

You are an ungrateful snot. Pay your god damned car note before you completely fuck up your brother's credit. If my husband and I can't buy a house or get a student loan because of YOU and your ridiculous need to drive a sports car, I will BEAT THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU.

Don't ask us for Christmas or birthday presents anymore. Don't ask for "help" buying a motorcycle. Pay us back the money you already owe us (which is accruing interest, by the way), and start acting like a responsible adult instead of a hissy-fit-throwing child. How can you be so behind on your bills when YOU HAVE A FREE APARTMENT?!

You're a jackass and I can't stand you. Stop coming to the house when Bizarro Dad is not here.

Up yours,
Sleepless Mama

Dear Betty Crocker

I don't know which executive thought it was a bright idea to discontinue the SuperMoist Cinnamon Swirl Cake Mix, but s/he was an absolute IDIOT to do so, especially now that Christmas is here. I cannot tell you how many requests I get for Cinnamon Swirl Cake With Raisins from family and friends. Now I've had to improvise with the Butter Pecan, which, by the way, tastes like really old banana bread that should have been tossed into the trash can a week ago. The fool in charge of making this kind of product decision needs a foot in the ass. Bring back the Cinnamon Swirl!

The preceding is a copy of the letter I sent to Betty Crocker Consumer Services. I expect to be presented with a picture of a size nine in someone's rectum any day now, along with a twelve-pack of Cinnamon Swirl cake mix.

Image courtesy of Amazon.com, who are really nice people that would LOVE to sell me a twelve-pack of Cinnamon Swirl cake mix, if only Betty Crocker would get off her fat ass and put it back in production.

Dear Houston Rockets

You suck.

Nah, not really. You aren't that bad.

And I know the Denver Nuggets are a tough team, what with them being able to fly and all.

But you totally screwed up, Bettier, fouling that dude at 4.5 seconds left in double overtime.

I was willing to flash you if you'd won.

(Well, I was willing to flash the TV.)

BUT NO.

You can't hang on to a lead to save yourself from a titty-less existence.

So I'm just going to have to keep them right here under my shirt.

Do better next game, fellas.

Graphic courtesy of abc13.com.