Love Letters

Dear Harried Mother,

Thank you so much for the entertainment this morning. Watching you stridently bang on the steering wheel for a good 45 seconds while shrieking godknowswhat was the highlight of the 7 a.m. hour for me. I know that light. I know it takes forfuckingever to change and having it turn yellow before you could make your left must have sucked more than anything has ever sucked before. I feel your pain. Though not as acutely as your poor daughter did, judging by the horrified look on her face during your tirade.

Yours,
Empathetic Daddy

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Dear HBO and David Milch,

Fuck you. Seriously. Dicks.

Yours,
Joe From Rancho Cucamonga

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Dear Uptighty,

Do you really think my son's usage of the word "butt" required such a grave inquisition on the demerits of "bathroom language?" The judgement in your eyes seemed a little over-the-top for the situation, better reserved, perhaps, for someone who had taken a dump on the hood of your K-Car. Regardless, because I want us all to get along, I told him not to do use that word in front of your fat ass.

Yours,
Eddie Expletive

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Pauly,

Truckin' Rules.

Yours,
KC

August 2007, Vol. 6, Issue 8

We're back with the last issue of the summer featuring some of your favorite writers.

1. Pyramid by Paul McGuire
I quickly discovered that Seattle was a bastion for the super weird. You needed to have layered eccentricies in order to stick out among the masses of freaks. Goth-dykes with foot fetishes might freak people out in conservative cities and small towns, but in Seattle, that puts you in the core group of "normal people.".

2. Cross-word by Sigge S. Amdal
Her hair was in explosive disarray across the pillow like the blood spurt pattern from a shotgun blast. It was slightly blond, streaked with brown and very beautiful. It looked like the crossroad of infinite options where only a handful suggested returning to the bed. She was fast asleep.

3. Meeting Mama McGrupp by Change100
I had yet to meet Mama McGrupp. Pauly assured me it was for a good reason. All I knew about this woman was that she was five feet tall, chain-smoked, had a wicked New York accent, was overly fond of Amaretto, and never had anything nice to say about anyone.

4. Kansas Clouds by Susan B. Bentley
Click. I got a photo of Kat just before she gave me the finger. Lying back down, I moved the lens across the sky, trying to capture a cloud on its journey. I sat up and took a picture of the track ahead. Nothing but mud and dust, bordered by fields of corn slowly moving in the breeze, nothing but empty for miles ahead.

5. Summer Story by May B. Yesno
Friends are a difficult thing. As a matter of fact they are almost impossible. Difficult to find for the first thing and just as difficult to keep - especially in a mobile society.