Dear condo:

I know that you’re bitter; I’m never around, I don’t see you anymore… But you are freshly cleaned and organized. Can’t that be enough?

Dearly departed Christmas cards:

Damn you! Why must you taunt me from within the confines of your hermetically sealed plastic wrap! You should have learned by now that you’ll never experience the freedom of other holiday cards; you’ll never have the joy of being opened by another set of hands. You’ve been sitting in a closet for three years, figure it out and stop judging me!

P.S. Your fate awaits you, you’ve been enlisted into the Salvation Army. Your mission is to be sold to someone who embraces Christmas cheer and will write grandiose stories within your folds to send to their friends and family.

Dear Banana Republic, Victoria’s Secret, American Eagle, Amazon, and all my retailer friends:

You sent me a card! I feel so special! I didn’t do anything for you. Stop by for some last-minute shopping? It’s the least I could do…

Dear Hammie:

I feed you, clean your litter, vacuum up the tiny gray hairs, and sing to you. Is that enough? NO…. You look disdainfully down your nose, prance away, and curl up on a chair, and snub me. No more I tell you, no longer will I be your little Asian houseboy. Enough is enough!

Dear Holiday Cheer:

I curse you. I curse you and the day that Hallmark sold their soul and started selling little dancing snowmen that play the piano, sing Christmas songs, and make you rue the day that baby Jesus’ birth was turned into a marketing ploy. Baby Jesus judges you!

Dear TV producers:

Why? Why are my shows on hiatus until March? I beg you please buck the system and provide American tv viewers with something better than "My Mom, the Stripper, Wants to Marry a Prison Inmate!" reality show and "Robbie the Reindeer: Bastard Son of Rudolf and Vixen" holiday special. There will be mutiny I tell you! Mutiny!