Monday, February 8, 2010

I'll Never Go to Jared, Not Even for a Soap Star: Take a Memo Monday

To: All networks other than CBS

From: A non-fan

Re: Last night's lineup

Believe it or not, not everyone watches or understands football. Therefore, not everyone cares about the Super Bowl. Would it have killed you to show something new last night? I was forced to watch Beverly Hills Chihuahua for the hundredth time. You could have at least aired a new episode of Frank the Entertainer. It's not like its ratings would have suffered. They can't possibly be that great anyway.

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To: All online and community colleges with commercials

From: A two-time degree holder who can read through the BS

Re: Your great job claims

An associate's degree will not get you a good job. A bachelor's degree will not get you a good job. A master's degree will not get you a good job. A doctorate will not get you a good job. The only thing that will get you a good job is being related to the boss, blackmail, or quality time spent on the casting couch. Please stop trying to convince the world otherwise.

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To: Jared

From: Someone who hates Valentine's Day

Re: Your commercials

They suck. In fact, if I had to watch them all year, I would either be in a padded room, or I would be Valentine Veronica, the female serial killer who stalks her prey once they exit a Jared jewelry store. Seriously, if Antonio Sabato, Jr. showed up on my doorstep tomorrow with a ring, a declaration of love, and his mother beside him saying, "He went to Jared," I'd slam the door in both of their faces. Get a new commercial. Get a new advertising firm, but most importantly get a new motto. You might want to do it quickly, too, before even stalkers like this one use the motto:


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To: The light over my kitchen sink

From: The lady who installed you

Re: Your poor timing

You've had all week to blow. Why did you weight to Super Bowl weekend to do so? Did the smoke detector tell you to do it? I know how it likes to wait until 2 a.m. to tell me its battery is dead. Are you in some kind of kitchen conspiracy? If so, I'd like you to get out of it. I don't particular like climbing on the sink to change you.

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To: Two spoiled-rotten canine brats

From: Mommy

Re: The object of your obsession

What part of "I'm out of joint chews, and I'm not going to Walmart on Super Bowl weekend to get more" did you fail to understand yesterday and Saturday? Your constant pacing of the kitchen and whining at the empty bag on the counter made me nuts. Believe it or not, there are poor doggies all over the world who don't get food, let alone joint treats. You should consider yourselves lucky that you get them at all. Now take one and leave me alone.

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To: Whoever tried to fix the stop sign across the street

From: The lady who kind of slept through it getting hit

Re: Your wasted efforts

The stop sign didn't stay. It fell over a couple of hours after you stuck it in the ground. Quite frankly, I don't think it's going to stay until the county comes and cements it into the ground. Consequently, I wouldn't bother wasting any more of your time messing with it. Chances are the speeding, drunk idiot who hit it the first time, made it fly into the driveway next to me in the middle of the night, and then left the scene will just get drunk and hit it again. Maybe I'll manage to put on my glasses and see who it is next time.

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To: All members of my family

From: An irritated, almost 34-year-old woman

Re: Home

Please stop asking me when I'm coming home. I have a home. It's the house that I have lived in and paid the mortgage on for the last six years. It will continue to be my home until a meteor strikes it; it gets blown up, burnt down, or beamed up by aliens; or the sheriff kicks me out of it. Six years of ownership and almost 34 years on this earth ought to be enough for you to consider it, not two houses that I have never lived in, my home. In other words, shut up, delete me from your speed dial, and never call me again.

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