Dear Bratty Bitch (hereinafter, BB):

Dear BB:

Thanks so much for harassing me incessently for two whole years for a stupid ass Barbie Dream House, and then playing with it all of 5 times.  There is nothing I like more than wasting money I don't have on stupid toys for your spoiled ass. 

Incidentally, Barbie is a whore. I hate her, AND her stupid house, that took 3 adults, a bottle of wine and a good 2 hours to put together. Stupid slut.

Love you!
Mommy

PS - at least it comes with the furniture for the fucking $160+ it costs.  Although the chairs are already broken on ours.  Because toy companies LOVE charging hundreds of dollars for shitty pieces of plastic and cardboard.

To The Powers That Be:

To The Powers That Be:

Stop using the fact that Qadhafi has his period again as an excuse to raise gas prices to $4 a gallon.

This is bullshit, and we all know it.

Love,
Me

PS - World Peace is everyone's responsibility. Please do your part by mailing  Qadhafi some Midol. You never know. It MAY make a difference.

Dear Clueless:

Dear Clueless:

Hi! You've got balls the size of an elephant's for even suggesting that my kids are "wild"*.  Your kid is a sociopath, but clearly your head is too far up your ass to notice. Next time, keep your opinions to yourself.  Big mouth.

Thanks.

Love,
Me.

*I know my kids are nuts.  But so are everyones. Mine are normal nuts. Which is to be distinguished from sociopath nuts.

Dear Middle Spawn:

Dear Middle Spawn:

I do love you very much but PLEASE stop pissing yourself! You are 4!!!

You can stop the video games to go pee. There's a wonderful little invention called the pause button. 

I think you will have to go to rehab for video game additiction. I will miss you, but it's for the best.

Love you!
Mommy

Dear Jackoff:

Dear Jackoff:

Yeah, thanks so much. I opened 3 separate closets today in 3 separate rooms during the course of my day. You know, I was just putting away laundry, getting a new slip cover for the couch, and getting the big box of baby wipes out of the closet.

Imagine my surprise when  ALL THREE TIMES objects flew out of the closet nearly killing me and now there is all kinds of shit laying everywhere.  Can't wait for you to come home and complain about the mess. Even though IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT.

Here's some info, just FYI....
1.  Cleaning does not mean stuffing everything into a fucking closet or sweeping it under a rug.
2.  Cleaning ACTUALLY involves cleaning supplies, mops, buckets, water, and soap.
3.  Cleaning baby stuff means you pick up all the food thrown on the floor by the baby and wash off his    high chair tray.
4.  Also when the baby's diaper leaks shit out of it and his clothes get full of it, you RINSE THAT SHIT OFF IN THE SINK. With soap. And water.  You don't just throw shit filled onesies in the hamper. Because now my whole house smells like a fucking cesspool.
5.  Moreover, that towel you use ONE TIME to dry off after your CLEAN ass comes out of the shower? THAT'S NOT DIRTY AND DOESN'T BELONG IN THE HAMPER. You can use that a couple of times. I don't need to be doing laundry ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY!

You are driving me fucking crazy. Seriously. Just don't clean. PLEASE DON'T CLEAN. Don't do ANYTHING without specific instructions from me. Because AGAIN you used the dishwasher and there are a bunch of dirty dishes in there for me to rewash. AND although you FINALLY listened about not putting the baby bottles in the dishwasher and washed them by hand, they all felt like they were COVERED in grease and I also have to rewash them.

So while you think you are God's Gift to women, I am telling you YOU ARE NOT. More like a Trojan Horse or the Devil in Disguise or some fucking retard I picked up off the street. One more time: JUST STOP "CLEANING". I don't need your kind of "help".

Thanks.

Love you!

Love,
ME

To the Tranny in the Burgundy Corolla:

To the Tranny in the Burgundy Corolla:

How nice that you, with a cell phone gripped in your man hands, insisted on racing down the highway like a lunatic, swerving in and out of cars.

It's also nice that you don't believe in turn signals.  It was a fun game to play with the kids - guess where the Tranny will go next!

How lucky for us that you were going the same way as us for miles, and that, like most men, are unable to multitask* and were practically driving on the grass of the exit ramp while trying to make your phone call.

You fucking beast. GET A CLUE.  Hire a driver to take you to your sex change operation. JUST GET OFF THE ROAD. Ass.

Love,
ME
*Unless you are jerking off and watching porn at the same time (one of my friends always says this and it is SO TRUE)

Dear Oldest Spawn, aka Bratty Bitch

Dear Bratty Bitch:

You know what is so amazing? It's the fact that you act so sweet and angelic and everyone thinks you are just perfect.

I know the truth. The reality is that you are a total brat!!!!

Thanks for screaming your face off and telling me how much you hate me while I was trying to get you to the busstop.  I know you would rather play with your stupid Pokeman sticker index, but really, I will go to jail if I just let you stay home from school cause you feel like it.

It's really becoming an obsession these stupid ass Pokeman. I mean honestly, aren't they over? I remember them from when I was a kid (don't I? Or am I hallucinating or suffering from early on-set alzheimers?).  Hasn't something better come up by now? This is getting ridiculous.  I really love how when I have 30 seconds to get out the door and am jamming a cleat onto your foot while your brothers are already waiting in the car, YOU take out another fucking Pokeman sticker and say "a little help please"? Man, I want to throw that fucking book in the garbage, and you right after it.

Excedrin Migraine should make you their spokesperson because I have singlehandedly been responsible for all of their profits thanks to YOU and your big mouth.

My brain hurts.

But I still love you.

Love,
Mommy

PS - If you are worse than this when you are a teenager, I am going to send you to boarding school in Morocco.