Dear blank sheet of paper, why do you scare me so when I’m trying to write something new/cool/interesting/life-changing? Why do you mock me with your cleanliness that I will now defile with my words?
Dear two and a half hours away girl, why do you call me late at night and tell me sweet things and then tell me I can’t come see you? It’s the most wonderful torture ever. Not.
Dear Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons, why do you think anyone in the world would buy a KISS album/tour without you in the band? Why do you continue to view fans like breathing ATM machines? I love you guys, but come on.
Dear Fx, why do you make me wait for new Shield episodes? You tease me so. Why does September have to be so far away?
Dear MacBook, why do I love you more than life itself? Why do you make the internet so beautiful? Why do you make it so easy to write amazing things anywhere? Why do you give me movies and music when I’m down and need a pick me up?
Dear old knees and ankles, why do you vex me so with your ability to run now and hurt later?
Dear internet, why do you tempt me with your sweet nectar of information/news/rumor/nakedness. Why do you tell me what I want to know and what I don’t want to know all at the same time?
Dear car that crosses three lanes of traffic and the idiot drivers who let you get away with it, please don’t get hit by a screaming semi doing 95 in a 35. Seriously?
Dear friends who live to far away, come closer.
Dear perfect girl for me, where are you?
Dear morning alarm clock, why do you wake me up when I really just want to sleep two or three more hours? What do you mean I have to go to work? What do you mean I need to pay for the electricity that powers you? Why do I wanna do that?
Dear summer movie season, why won’t you have another summer like 1982?
Dear end of the page, I guess I’ll stop now.
Idea ripped off from the excellent busblog. Hi, Tony.