An Open Letter From Comic Sans

Listen up. I know the shit you’ve been saying behind my back. You think I’m stupid. You think I’m immature. You think I’m a malformed, pathetic excuse for a font. Well think again, nerdhole, because I’m Comic Sans, and I’m the best thing to happen to typography since Johannes fucking Gutenberg.

You don’t like that your coworker used me on that note about stealing her yogurt from the break room fridge? You don’t like that I’m all over your sister-in-law’s blog? You don’t like that I’m on the sign for that new Thai place? You think I’m pedestrian and tacky? Guess the fuck what, Picasso. We don’t all have seventy-three weights of stick-up-my-ass Helvetica sitting on our seventeen-inch MacBook Pros. Sorry the entire world can’t all be done in stark Eurotrash Swiss type. Sorry some people like to have fun. Sorry I’m standing in the way of your minimalist Bauhaus-esque fascist snoozefest. Maybe sometime you should take off your black turtleneck, stop compulsively adjusting your Tumblr theme, and lighten the fuck up for once.

People love me. Why? Because I’m fun. I’m the life of the party. I bring levity to any situation. Need to soften the blow of a harsh message about restroom etiquette? SLAM. There I am. Need to spice up the directions to your graduation party? WHAM. There again. Need to convey your fun-loving, approachable nature on your business’ website? SMACK. Like daffodils in motherfucking spring.

When people need to kick back, have fun, and party, I will be there, unlike your pathetic fonts. While Gotham is at the science fair, I’m banging the prom queen behind the woodshop. While Avenir is practicing the clarinet, I’m shredding “Reign In Blood” on my double-necked Stratocaster. While Univers is refilling his allergy prescriptions, I’m racing my tricked-out, nitrous-laden Honda Civic against Tokyo gangsters who’ll kill me if I don’t cross the finish line first. I am a sans serif Superman and my only kryptonite is pretentious buzzkills like you.

It doesn’t even matter what you think. You know why, jagoff? Cause I’m famous. I am on every major operating system since Microsoft fucking Bob. I’m in your signs. I’m in your browsers. I’m in your instant messengers. I’m not just a font. I am a force of motherfucking nature and I will not rest until every uptight armchair typographer cock-hat like you is surrounded by my lovable, comic-book inspired, sans-serif badassery.

Enough of this bullshit. I’m gonna go get hammered with Papyrus.

[courtesy of McSweeney's]

Open Letter to Dreams

Dear Dreams,

Books, toothbrush, drown, raisin pie, leotards, cockadoodledoo, Napoleon, word pizza, blue, plaster of paris, twins, JK Rowling, recycling program, prohibition, motor yacht, hat box, Pier 1 Imports, gravy, bones, Victor/Victoria, bathroom, stapler, birth, crash, prom, senate, ceramic flowers, iodine.

That's what it feels like, asshole.


[courtesy of McSweeney's]

Carmex

Dear Carmex user,

Why do you use this product? I'm just trying to wrap my head around it. I understand that it's winter and you need something moisturizing for your lips. I understand that in many cases, you're a guy and don't care too much about what you put on your lips. But this stuff looks like earwax and smells like a medicated version of what I imagine earwax to smell like in a very concentrated form. When you apply this stuff to your lips and then speak to people, each and every word that comes out of your mouth smells like Carmex. If I run into you on a crowded train, this is a very unfortunate situation for me. When you dip your finger into the jar and rub in onto your lips, what do you do with the excess? Rub it on your hands, maybe? So now you have terrible-smelling breath and hands. Maybe you've just never thought about this, Carmex user. Maybe no one's felt comfortable enough to bring this to your attention. I just wanted you to know.

Sincerely,

Victoria