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Dear Brother,

Let me first start off by telling you how much I appreciate your letters. They bring me solace…no, that’s not the right word. They bring me comfort. Knowing that you still remember me even though we are separated by a locking door (a heavy locking door thank god!) brings me a strange sense of comfort. Secondly, although I appreciate your letters (god knows it must be so hard for you to actually take time from your busy day of doing nothing), I am no stranger to the venom you spew on them. The venom is so palpable that I am now forced to wear gloves when handling your letters. So please, try to stay pleasant. I know it may be a lot to ask of you, but you can try!

I am glad other people are enjoying my letters. It’s nice to have an audience. However, knowing now that you are reading my letters out loud leaves me with a sense of performance anxiety. I hope this letter lives up to the amazingness of the last ones. It reminds me of when mom kept finding urine on the toilet seat and then forced you pee in front of her for a year so she could verify that you were actually hitting the bowl. God, that year in high school was awful for you.

Yes, I do appreciate you cooking for me. I assumed the empty trays I leave at the door were ‘thank you’ enough. I often forget how needy you are. Ever since I can remember, everyone always has to say ‘thank you’ for everything. Worse yet, everyone always has to apologize to you when they accidentally hurt you in some way. You can hold such a grudge. So, I’ll say it all again:

I’m sorry for beaming you in the head at Office Depot

While I’m at it, let me repeat my sorrys for other things I have done that you could possibly be holding a grudge against:

I’m sorry for showing up at your wedding naked and forcing your blushing bride to call off the wedding 5 minutes prior to her walking down the isle (but, as I’ve said before, if that’s all it took to end the relationship, you guys were in trouble anyways)

I’m sorry for running dad over with the car (but again, as I’ve said before, he really had it coming).

And I’m sorry for refusing to let the dog out of my room. I understand he would probably like to run outside, and I understand that he really needs a bath, but he is such a great comfort to me. I can’t bear to let him go.

There! Are you happy?

As for the bread: learn how to fucking bake! Get me some mother fucking potato bread or I will burn this mother fucking house to the mother fucking ground. Got it, Asshole? You already know what I am like pissed off, so DON’T. FUCK. WITH. ME.

Love, your sis!

P.S. Facebook? What’s facebook?

1 year ago  /  6 notes