Dear Plague:
FINE. Since you insist on making yourself at home, why must you also give me this disgusting cough? I feel like a leper. NOT ON.
Dear Girl in the Cubicle Next Door:
Look, I really don't think it's just me. Your constant popping of bubble wrap is both annoying to all your fellow cube rats and also says something really disturbingly neurotic about you.
Dear People I'm STILL Trying to Work With:
Seriously. YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL. Okay? I don't care what your parents told you. You're never going to be President, you can't do anything you want and you're not a sweet and special snowflake who deserves every last iota of my attention and patience. I don't care how much you panic at me or how many e-mails you send me with that stupid little red exclamation point attached. I am doing the best I can for you and the 99 other morons who waited until the last minute.
Dear Tylenol Daytime Non-Drowsy Liquid Cold Medication (in CitrusBurst, sorry, Rodney):
Hoo boy, you're not my usual DayQuil. And while it's true, you have not made me drowsy, you have made me loopy, dizzy, and indifferent. I ain't sleepy but I sure shouldn't be operating heavy machinery. But thank you for the bonus of causing me to retreat to new levels of John Sheppard-esque laconic apathy when the People I'm STILL Trying to Work With get increasingly agitated at me. You've made my day much easier.
