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An Open Letter To All Things Pizza Hut


To the general presence of Pizza Hut,

Since I am no longer a slave under your employ, I feel it completely necessary to release the vile feelings I’ve been forced to keep inside for the past two-odd years concerning you. I must warn you that while the composition of this letter will be remarkably therapeutic for me, it may be at times inelegantly written, and show no signs of the self-educated woman that I am. Let me begin with something that I’ve been waiting to say for some time:

FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem. Now that I have gotten that off of my sizeable chest, I will move on to everything that is wrong with your corporation.

Let me first say that the customer is NOT always right. Especially in the case of your customers. Yes, there may have been an occasion or two where extra cheese was not administered as requested,  or tomatoes were placed on a super-supreme pizza (which is completely inappropriate), but I stand by the fact that I did NOT jip you on your toppings, and every pizza made by my own two work-worn hands was properly spec-ed and lovely to behold. Because your company has the policy that you should give the customer “whatever they want”, you can surely expect that at some point you will run out of money after giving away free food to all  the trashy motha-fuckas who lie to get a comped meal. To this I say- it is your own goddamn fault.

Secondly, it is shameful that you pay your shift managers such low wages. Truly, when promoting your team members to such a status, you should include in fine print this:

We promise to work you until you bleed, if not outwardly, at least until you suffer from stomach ulcers because of stress. You will be forced to work all holidays and weekends without any thanks, and if you refuse to work any of the afore mentioned days, you will be shunned by our district managers and dramatically have your hours cut. You will NEVER receive any type of raise until you are so frustrated that you find a new job, at which time, we may consider gifting you with  our feigned appreciation and only a miniscule raise- enough to keep you in our chains. If at any time you tell your overseeing managers exactly what you think of them or their performance, even if it perfectly accurate and politically-correctly stated, you too will be shunned.

To the Pizza Hut customers,

I will admit that there are a few of you who are endearing and affable. To you, I show my utmost appreciating for having made my stay in Hell a little less horrifying.

To the rest of you, the entire uncivilized lot of you, I must once again show how uneloquent I can be.

FUCK YA’LL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To those of you who would seat yourselves, completely ignoring the sign that distinctly states, “PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED”, as well as overlooking the fact that I and my fellow coworkers are human beings, and will greet and seat you at your convenience, I must say that you are pitiful creatures, and it is my hope that at some point in your despicable little lives someone treats you as though you are not worthy of basic consideration.

To those of you who insist on no pork coming in contact with your food, and a clean blade being used to cut your halal food, I will say that if you asked once, and politely, and in no way treated me as an inferior person, I followed your requests religiously. (I even wore gloves.) To those of you who made such requests in an incredibly rude and obnoxious manner (i.e. repeating said request as though I were in some way deaf or not listening, using an outside voice though we were clearly indoors, acting as though my female anatomy deemed me unworthy of human decency) even though I had helped you in the past and could clearly tell you were Muslim by your burquas, I will tell you that my hand may have once or twice slipped into the nasty, dirty, unkosher pork before touching your chicken pizza. I just can’t remember for sure.

To a certain district manager,

To quote every employee that ever came in contact with you who were not of the naïve and unknowing variety:

“You’re a piece of shit.”

I will admit, in the beginning, I was one of these naïve people, and was momentarily distracted by your lovely masculine height and vibrant blue eyes. In fact, I recall turning down a job at an amazing craft store when you asked me to because I felt bad that your beautiful little boys would not grow up knowing their dad because you were so overworked and would be even more-so if I were to quit. I did not realize then that the lack of general managers in your district was only due to your own egotistical,  self-absorbed, castigating style of managing. Yes, I realize that you know not what castigating means, because at one time, you asked me to use common and ordinary words that were easy to understand. I refuse to demean myself because you are too busy being Big Boss Man to read a fucking dictionary. You very recently stated that it was in the best interest of the restaurant and all the employees that I be demoted; to that I say, “It really wasn’t, because now you will see what the store truly runs like without one competent shift manager.” You will never, NEVER have a completely-staffed district, because you refuse to focus on what it truly takes to run a successful restaurant, but instead nit-pick at stupid shit that doesn’t matter. Perhaps if you begin treating your employees like people, instead of like the smushed Italian sausage that is on the bottom of your over-sized shoe, you will truly find success. Because you certainly don’t have it now, and you know it. Also, your wife is ugly.

This all being said, I release now my demons and will never again think of Pizza Hut in any way, even though the remaining employees who worked with me will think of me at least a little bit every single day.

Fuck you very much,

Sparkle

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I Hope Your Baby Looks Like Steve Buscemi


Dear former Fuck Buddy of Mine,

Let me be the first thirty-first (according to Facebook) to offer my congratulations on the presence of the conjoined egg-and-sperm in your wife’s belly.

While it is, I suppose, good news that this announcement has made its debut at this time, I find it a bit unlucky for you that the timing is such that YOU are the one chosen to be the recipient of my lonely-and-depressed-barren-woman rant. For this I apologize.

While I cannot deny that we had some “good times” (heh, heh) and I would like to thank you always for making me feel desirable, (as if no one else does), I must admit that my faith in the goodness of the male species has been forever and always jaded because of you. Perhaps it is the fact that your current relationship began as you dating three women at once,or perhaps it is the fact that you’ve never once even tried to be faithful to she who now carries your child. Either way, I shall always look at men I’ve had as Fuck Buddies in a strange and terrible light now.

It’s true, if I were not in my current state of confusion over my Rockstar and life choices in general, I may have been able to offer my congratulations  honestly and without malice; but too bad for you, Dude- you get the full extent of my Sad Girl wrath.

I do not doubt that your wife is feeling great joy and ecstatic happiness at this time at the fact that she carries a little you inside her. (That kinda sounded dirty.) However, I do wonder if your excitement is of the same caliber. You know what babies mean, right? More work and less naked time- something that if I know you as well as I do, you shall not be thrilled about in the least.

Though it is not for me to judge God’s judgement in providing your sperm with extra oomph to impregnate your spouse, I cannot help but wish to raise my fist and scream at the heavens, “What the Hell are You thinking?!?!?!??!” It is clearly obvious He intends to make every single person around me pregnant as if to say, “Yeah, Bitch- take that!”

And so, to end this harsh and hateful letter, I can do only one thing- Curse you and offer my hope that your baby looks like Steve Buscemi. I realize that this will never happen, as you are a beautiful Puerto Rican, and your wife has an amazing smile. So boo on you.

No Love,

Sparklebumps

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A Valediction to Chris Meloni


My pulchritudinous Christopher,

I have come to the heartbreaking conclusion that this shall be the last letter I shall ever compose to you.

“But why, my sweet luscious Sparklebumps?” You ask? (Or more correctly, you so blatantly do NOT ask.)

I must admit, my (or not mine) amazing specimen of a man, that the thought of never again typing up a letter of blatant lust to you has got me a bit misty-eyed, but no- I cannot go on as we have. (Or have not.)

I cannot help but notice that my multiple attempts to gain your attention have, in fact, received no attention at all from you. My birthday post for you HERE and my first confession of love HERE lack the sufficient comments from you necessary for me to continue my unrequited love for you. Despite the numerous offers of boobie squishes I have promised you upon our initial meeting, you remain ever distant- living with that very tall wife of yours and scowling beautifully without any thoughts of me whatsoever. I cannot bear it, Chris.

Though I do not consider myself high-maintenance, I have been assured by a number of the male species that I do, at times, require excessive attention. Since I have received not one iota of attention from you, I do no think that I am being unreasonable in ending our bond; it was doomed from the very start.

I will no longer dream of your strong Stabler arms around me, nor shall I pine to stretch myself to the very max to reach your very kissable lips with my own. (Which would be completely impossible anyway, since I haven’t shoes tall enough to make ME tall enough.) No more shall I imagine you scowling at me in your very Christopher way when I have denied you my delicate lotus-like privates. (Which is also quite incredible, as I would never deny you anything, my dearest Bald Man.)

I hope with this, my last goodbye, you feel anguish at never having experienced my magnificent boobage in all its glory, and contrition over never having donated your sperm to me in such a way that would produce little Mini Mes and Yous. (Our unborn children wail in grief.) It brings me great sadness that your hardened manhood shall never find its way into my mouth, for I surely have wanted to know exactly how many licks it would take….

Know this, my once darling Chris, my future love life shall ever be slightly grim and jaded, even if I have moved my attentions on to Sean Bean.

For Never Yours,

Sparklebumps

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A Letter To SOB’s


Dear Sons of Bitches,
If you think this letter is addressed to you, then it probably is. So read on.
I do not appreciate the fact that I have befriended you, and you see fit to slam shit around in a childish manner. To this I say in an equally child-like manner- “NO NO NO NO!!!!”
I do not appreciate that I was asked to participate in a group project, and then was sorely under-appreciated, and made to feel that I had over-stepped myself. I over-step myself on a daily basis- the exact reason I was asked to participate in the first place. So, NO! I shall not participate in any other group projects. My writing is better without outside interference anyway.
I do not appreciate that I did my best as a matchmaker, and was not even informed of any juicy details that may have occurred because of my Love Fenaggeling.
I do not appreciate that I was customer friendly, (only because I was paid to be) and was cursed at.
I do not appreciate that I am me, and am compared to someone who is disliked by many. (And who is clearly NOT me.)
I do not appreciate that I tell someone I appreciate their beauty, and do not even receive a hug in response.
Kiss my ass and Fuck Y’all.

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Unfortunately, Kevin Costner


My Dearest Sparklebumps,

I wanted to write this letter to apologize for the irkedness and offense I’ve cause you throughout the years.

I cannot think of what has made you detest me so. I’ve given great thought to it, and there was only a few reasons I could come up with.

First of all, I would like to seek forgiveness for Waterworld. There was really no excuse for that. I would just like to point out that I got swept up in the idea of starring in the most expensive movie of the times. Let me repeat, I’m so sorry.

I have come to realize that my less-than-outstanding acting ability may have something to do with your displeasure with me. I agree that it is totally reprehensible of me to continue accepting starring roles that will further alienate you from me. I didn’t think I did too badly portraying John Dunbar in Dances With Wolves, and trust me, I was disappointed in the choice of actress they used for my love interest, as well. It is true, my performance in Dragonfly was mediocre at best, and the only thing that saved me was the screenplay writer. I should know better by now to turn down any more western roles, but, Sparkle, I keep accepting those roles because I want to play a badass- it’s no use. My weenie-dom seeps through.

I understand how tiresome it is to continuously hear of my utter gorgeousness. You know how your Auntie gets whenever I come onscreen. There is a multitude of other women (and I’m sure men) who are brainwashed into thinking I am much more beautiful than I am. (including me) You know as well as I that just because millions of people say you’re pretty, that doesn’t make it so. I try as hard as I can to convince them I AM, in fact, sexually appealing, but unlike They said in Field of Dreams– if you build it, they will come- I know within my heart that, despite my best efforts, I will never make YOU come. Your blatant revulsion of me is palpable. Though there are thousands of miles between us, I feel the shudders of your abhorrence every time you realize I’m coming out with a new movie like a slap in the face.

I hope you can understand that my venture as a restauranteur was to satiate my egotistical tendencies. Opening a bar and grill in Deadwood and then filling it with movie memorabilia from only my own movies was indeed pompous and narcissicistic, but you must remember, my fans like it, even if I DO suck balls.

I will end my letter by urging you to reconsider accepting any future acting rolls you may be offered where you would costar with me. I know that my hideous acting would be distracting, but you must remember, everyone would be looking at you anyway.

Unfortunately,

Kevin Costner

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Ballad to My Low-Quality Payless Workshoes


Oh my unattractive non-slip faux-leather work footwear,

I am sorely perturbed at your repulsive appearance. I cannot completely blame you, as you were designed for comfort, and not for looks. Oh that you were as comfortable as your ugliness deems you should be! Alas, it seems that the $24 I paid for thee was an utter waste of cash. Now, I am forced to vest my feet in your disgustingly smelly depths every time I venture to work. My peers say it shall be my 6″ alligator heels that are the death of my feet, but nay! I am convinced it shall be ye.

The grippers on the bottom of you not only keep me from slipping and hitting my skullage on the pizza oven at work- they are extremely adept at picking up an stray pepperoni, cheese, and other perishable pizza toppings that have made their way onto the floor. The treads of you are so full of mashed pork and beef toppings that just the thought of it makes my stomach churn. Woe is me, but there is no way to unsully the soles of my work shoes!

Sadly, you were not there to appropriately support my perfectly-arched feet yesterday when I needed you most. Nine hours I was scheduled; while my feet screamed at me for mercy from your death hold after only five hours, I further tortured them by having to stay at work for another seven hours after I was scheduled.  In return, my feet have decided to retaliate by refusing to fit into my gorgeous satin leopard-print booties. No amount of soakng or rubbing will deter them from dispersing their retribution.

I’ve considered replacing you, my Payless shoes, with a higher end brand of work boot, such as Doc Martens. Unfortuneately, I cannot justify spending $100 on a pair of shoes that will, in less than a month, reek of pizza grease and tomato sauce. And so, my homely companions, I pray that you will be kind to my feet just long enough for me to become insanely famous and rich from my blog.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

 

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An Open Letter to Those Who Bring Happiness


Dear Maya Angelou- I appreciate you putting into poetry the words I so forcefully think in my head- “Life doesn’t frighten me, no not at all.” Even though there are times when life makes me want to crawl into a six foot hole dragging the dirt in after me. But nevermind about that.

Dear Lady Gaga- I greatly look up to you and your bizzare get-ups. I adore the fact that you don’t seem to care how scary you end up looking, and that you are still at the top of the charts while doing so. It will make it much easier for me to become famous now, because nobody will be looking at my style faux-pas; they will all be looking at you.

Dear my Incredible Auntie- When people say that we look exactly the same, I do not cringe, because I aspire to look like anyone who has fantastic kids like yours, has her own business that she enjoys immensely, and isn’t afraid to pray- “Dear Jesus, thank you for chow mein.”

Dear Audrey Hepburn- Thank you, thank you, thank you, for being beautiful and amazing and classy. You are proof that one or two failed marriages is not something to worry over, and proof that a “princess” is not just someone you can play in a movie. I am saddened that you are dead, because it would have been nice to meet you.

Dear Gramma- Despite the fact that you have grown increasingly blunt in recent years, I find it quite humorous when you truthfully tell me that my choice in hair color is “hideous.” I would like to inform you once again that as a child, my hair was blonde, and it never has, in fact, been beautifully natural black like you tell everyone it is. I think you are confusing me with my half-sister. Thank you for being always honest- even if it is in an Alzheimer’s patient kind of way.

Dear Prince (to clarify- the artist formerly known and once again known as)- I want to thank you for noticing that “all that glitters ain’t gold.” and for your funky falsetto, as it has greatly entertained me for many years. I find you to be immensely talented; however, I regret to inform you that though I would love to be a guest on one of your albums, I will not be asking you to produce my debut album. Your style is a little bit too messy for my taste. Kudos on the Under the Cherry Moon soundtrack though.

Dear H.E Ellis– Even though my Rockstar doesn’t find me worthy of marriage, I know you are out there ready to marry me whenever you turn lesbian. You are very good for my ego.  XOXO

Dear numerous candy-producing companies- Without you, I would have drifted through life without the benefit of sugar-induced energy. Thank you for providing me with Starburst, Butterfingers, Milky Ways, Laffy Taffy, Blow Pops (which also served me in my first attempts at learning how to give a blow job), 5th Avenues, etc…

Dear Jim Beam and Co.- Thank you for providing liquor strong enough to get my Rockstar jumping on the bed with his guitar. Also,  with your help, I found out he can sing just like Sinnead O’Connor. That was a little bit disturbing, but highly entertaining. It  gave me good fodder with which to tease him mercilessly.  You also induced the most amazing drunken sex I’ve ever had. Thank you again for that.

Dear Chris Meloni- Thank you for your beautiful scowl. And other beautiful parts of you.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

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A Letter From God


Dear Sparklebumps,

I decided to send you a letter since you are one of my Beloved Children. I don’t usually do this, but I’ve noticed you tend to keep any letters, notes, etc. that people send to you. That was one of the great ideas I thought of when I was creating you; I thought maybe you’d keep everything, so when you become famous (as I have decided you should be) you can make one of those books about your life that have all the little pull-out parts that include letters and pictures and shit. I’d like you to include My letter, so anyone who wants to read about the famous Sparklebumps realizes it was I who made you what you were.

About the picture thing- you know you’re not very photogenic. I will tell you why I decided to make it that way. I made you adorable and smart, but I figured it would be a bit much if I added photogenic, because I know you would have gotten a big head. Also, given your tendency to take nudey pictures of yourself, I figured it was probably best if your face didn’t look great in photos, that way you won’t end up in Playboy or something. I admit that Playboy is a perfect study of the wonderful female form that I created, but it’s not for you. I plan on you making your living from your wit and your way with words, (and possibly your singing voice, if you can convince your Rockstar to start a band) NOT with your semi-hot bod.

Since I brought it up- yes, I gave you big buzooms. I did that because I know you’d be able to handle the attention that comes with them gracefully. Dolly Parton is another one that I made like that; she hasn’t forgotten about Me, and I know you won’t either. I give you permission to take advantage of your boobies, after all, why else would I have given them to you? But at the same time, don’t forget it’s your brain, and not your bra size, that makes you who you are.

I want to give you props for abstaining from all the temptations I’ve sent your way lately. You know I just like to fuck with you, right? (Heh heh) You’ve done good at only doing the sex with your Rockstar , and no one else; I know how you likes the sex and all. I also sent a few hot customers your way for you to just admire from afar, because I know you like to look at pretty things.

The Rockstar thing? You’ve figured out that I made him specifically for you. He, on the other hand, is kinda being a dumbass about the whole situation. I honestly gotta say that I made the male species REALLY bird-brained. What was I thinking? Anyhoo, I’ll try to put a bug in his ear about the whole marriage thing, but he really does love you; he’s just not trusting Me enough. He thinks you might be too much woman for him, so he’s terrified to pop the question.

If you noticed, I sent you a couple new friends, (Delightful, H.E., HR, Hotspur, Brainrants, John, and Megan) They’re kind of a fucked up bunch, so I knew you’d get along with them great. Also, I made sure Delightful lived close to you so you had someone to go to that fabulous coffee shop with. If you make an effort to stay in contact with them, I’ll make sure they make an effort with you, so they don’t end up like all your other friendships.

I wanted to talk about tithing to Me. I know you’re kind of broke right now, and so I’ll let you get away without giving me any offering. You make up for it by playing beautiful piano music to honor Me, and I’m ok with that. BUT. In the future, after you have your castle, I expect 10% of your earnings. In exchange, I’ll make sure the IRS gets off your back.

I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to bless you with children. You kind of have your hands full with your Rockstar’s Daughter, and anyway- you have alot of shit to do before you become a mother. It’s up to you to get started on all that before you reach menopause. You know what They say, “God helps those who help themselves.” (For the record, that’s not in My Word; I’m not sure where it came from.)

I guess that’s about it. You know I made you one of those people that are easy to love, so get out there in the world so they can love you. (NOT in a sexual way. I guess I didn’t make that clear to your stalkers. Sorry about that.)

Your Heavenly Father,

God (or I Am)

P.S. I haven’t quite figured out how yet, but if you keep serving Me, I’ll make sure you get to boob-squish Chris Meloni someday.

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To Whom It May Concern


To Whom it may concern,

I am composing this letter to inform you that you suck balls. (Though I’m sure not literally, because men would find you much more appealing if you did.) It is too bad that your low self-esteem has alienated the people you love from you, because from what I can see, your wild imagination has gotten the best of you, and there is no sanity left.

Your mad conceptualizations tend to make you look like an escapee from the loony bin, and it takes all that I have in me not to call the authorities and have you re-committed. I hear the beds there can be quite lonely, so I understand completely why you felt the need to flee; however, if your crazed activities are to continue, I will have no choice in the matter.

Your spelling is atrocious (that reason alone is enough to have you arrested, in my opinion), and I realize that strong spirits are probably the reason for this infraction, so I firmly urge you to seek treatment for your obvious alcoholism; if only to keep people from thinking you didn’t pass the 7th grade.

I must relate to you the fact that no one is out to get you, and that the “issues” you admit that you are having are solely of your own disgraceful doings. (Sadly, I believe said issues are apparent only to you, anyway; you may find that these issues take care of themselves if you take your pills faithfully.)

In closing, I must quote Margaret Fuller- “This woman envies me; she says, ‘How happy you are; so free, so serene, so attractive, so self-possessed!’ I say not a word, but I do not look on myself as particularly enviable.”

To you I say, Get happy, get free, get serene; and then you will be attractive and self-possessed. Because your non-serenity is making you beautifically-impaired.

Thank you and please don’t come and kill me in the night,

Sparklebumps

P.S. If you think this letter is concerning you, it probably is.

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