Open Letter #8

Dear Worst Soccer Mom Ever,


I know this may seem out of the blue, but it's something that I've been wanting get off my chest for roughly the past 20 years.


Look, I know you take your job seriously. That's admirable. But there is no reason to rule over those half-time orange slices like a fucking Nazi field commander. We are young. We are dehydrated. We are getting our asses kicked by the "Strikers". Is it our fault that you couldn't splurge another dollar and buy enough oranges so that everyone could have two? Last time I checked Vitamin C was a GOOD thing for growing young boys.


And let's talk about the post-game sodas. I don't understand how hard it is to purchase something normal like Coca-Cola or even Pepsi. But don't peddle your retarded no-name store brands off on us kids. Just because your husband got laid off doesn't mean our one moment of joy after a humiliating defeat has to be ruined by walking off the field holding a Sam's Choice "Dr Thunder". What a cheap knock off. And it's fucking warm too. Here's a tip... water cold temperature = ICE!!


There's a reason we all hate your son. It's because of your shitty refreshments.


Sincerely,


Jonesy (circa 1986)

Open Letter #7

Dear Kenny Loggins,

Hey, Kenny. How's the beard? Look I know you're a busy man. Well, actually I'm not sure about that. I mean not unless they have begun shooting Caddyshack III. But, regardless, I need your help.

My problem is this... I can't help but feel that the soundtrack to my life is missing something. A bonafied hit to be exact. And who else could I turn to but the grand master of movie soundtrack hitmakers. What you did with Top Gun ('Danger Zone"), Footloose ("Footloose"), and my personal favorite "Meet Me Half Way" from Over The Top, which I might add made that the best movie about arm-wrestling that I have ever seen.

Right now, the story of my life is missing that spark. I need you to rub that magic lamp one more time for me. Create for me that one theme song that will stand the test of time. I beg you. I implore. I'm desperate. Harold Faltermeyer has already turned me down.

Thank you, Mr. Loggins. I await your musical briliance.

Sincerely,

Jonesy

Open Letter #6

Dear Conrad Bain (aka Mr. Drummond from Diff'rent Strokes),

Are you still alive? It's really bugging the shit out of me.

Well, if so... here's to many more years of moving the world.

Sincerely,

Jonesy

Open Letter #5

Dear Tomatillo Red-Chili Salsa from Chipotle,

I don't know really how to say this but ... I think we should stop seeing each other. This back and forth of pleasure and pain in our relationship is really exhausting and I mean that literally. You taste so damn good on my burrito, but 4-6 hours later you turn into my worst enemy. You really know how to hurt a guy.

The menu lists your ingredients as chiles de abol, tomatillos, and fresh spices. I think those unlisted spices must include some sort of military-grade colon-incinerating powder developed in Tijuana by the Mexican military to combat the rampaging druglords who control the area.

The smile on my face as I consume your tangy goodness is quickly turned upside down soon after I adjourn to the confines of my bathroom. My fingers begin to claw at the wall in sheer terror much like a cat that has been thrown into a moving clothers dryer. As I endure the inferno, I glance around the room looking for any tools to perform a c-section on myself. I settle for some lamaze breathing. After a chat with God where I swear you off for good ... the pain soon subsides. I light a cigarette and sleep for 8 hours.

I just think we need some time apart. But I know it will probably not last and we'll be back in each others arms again. Until then...

Sincerely,

Jonesy

Open Letter #4

Dear Every Stand-Up Comedian Ever,

We get it. There are shitloads of Starbucks. They're everywhere. They're evil. Blah blah blah. But you know what? What did Starbuck's ever do to you but provide wonderful coffee that some of us happen to need twice every hour just to maintain some sort of coherence state of mind in our daily lives. I couldn't care less if there is a Starbuck's on every corner. If I walk into one of these fine establishments and the purple-haired aspiring actress behind the counter isn't moving quick enough for my satisfaction ... it is my god-given right as an American to be able to walk 3 ft. down the sidewalk to the other Starbuck's for my fix. Baby needs his candy. So, personally, I don't care if you're a Starbuck's, Caribou, Moosehumper's ... you're welcome in my neighborhood because every time a new coffee store goes up it means one thing... no space for another fucking Thai restaurant in Chicago!!!

(sip)

I'm sorry I yelled at you.

Sincerely,

Jonesy

Open Letter #3

Dear Guy Who Wears His Shirt Collar Flipped Up,

Someone lied to you. It looks retarded. There's a reason why John Cusack and Andrew McCarthy looked a little "funny" in all those movies from the 1980s. And it wasn't the coke. Just trying to help.

Sincerely,

Jonesy

Open Letter #2

Dear Root Beer Schnapps,

I see you down there on the bottom shelf behind the bar. Covered in dust. Many times I've thought about ordering you out of pity. You look so lonely. Gone are the days of the early 1990s when a shot of you would have been a HILARIOUS choice amongst friends and fellow drinkers. Now, thanks to the introduction of the "Jagerbomb", you are often left ignored. Please know that I miss you and I hope someday our paths will cross again.

P.S. - Please give my love to Razzmatazz.

Sincerely,

Jonesy

Open Letter #1

Dear Professional Lady in The Loop:

There you are. Making your way to work. Your stride is long. The look on your face is one of determination and success. You look so hot with your hair pulled tightly into a bun. I love your expensive-looking dark-colored business suit ... those sheer, classy pantyhouse ... and those fucking goofy gigantic bright-white Nike tennis shoes. I'm glad you're comfortable.

Sincerely,

Jonesy