Dear Random Asshole Driver on I-69,
When you choose to drive like a complete asshole, it might be better for your local business if you would choose NOT to advertise said business on your van. I can't imagine that your asshole-ish behavior with cutting people off and tailgating does much in the way of garnering you more business. Did I mention that you are an asshole?
While I love you dearly 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, I must confess that my love for you peaks between the hours of 8:00 pm and 8:00 am AND the hours of 2:00 pm and 4:00 pm while you are sleeping. Please adjust your schedule accordingly. Shall I mention that Elmo also loves you more during the hours noted?
Dear Random Condom, Recently Found Skulking In a Drawer,
Too little, too late.
Dear Pregnancy Hormones-Induced Insomnia,
I am tired of you. Go away. Pun intended.
Baby, I believe. I've defended your honor in the past during my blissful days of Armchair Parening and solemnly vowed even then to teach my kid that you are real. Who cares if I am technically lying to my kid and furthermore, probably "threatening his relationship with God" in order to perpetuate a quaint myth surrounding a Christian saint? You're FUN and add an element of magic and mystery to the season. Damn straight, I'll be sharing that with my kids. So, Christmas Eve, don't worry your wily, whiskered hide - I've got your back.
Regarding BeaverFest 2006, don't get your panties in a twist. How about just wearing them instead?