Open Letter to Peter _______, From a Nameless Office Supply Company.

Dear Peter ____:

You are a douche. Not just a douche in the slang interpretation of douche, but also a douche in the vaginal irrigation interpretation of the word. Yes, that's right: you're a tube that dirty girls the world over use to "clean" themselves...and I'm talking herpes kinda dirty...yes, that's you.

I understand you are a sales douche and therefore are forced to call me twenty times a day in order to get business, but for the last fucking time: we're not interested. However, it takes a real douche, like the kinda douche that comes from Staten Island and has a mother who has mistakenly told him (read: out of pity) his entire life what a catch he is, to call up my boss and inform her that I have been "refusing" your calls. The fact is, Peter, I haven't...I pick up when you call, it's just when you ask for "Mandy" I tell you she's on vacation...until November...and honestly, in my head, I usually am.

I've gotta say, I've never met a Peter I've liked. My sister dated a Peter and he sucked. He was ten years her senior, refused to get a job and lived off the kindness of my parents. While my sister was a full time college student with a full time job, this Peter sat around in their apartment, smoked the pot, played the guitar in his imaginary band and waited for his make-believe trust fund to cash in...

Then there was Peter the accountant from my old job who was so crooked and so deceitful and obsessed with God, that all he did was smile because "God's love is all around me." No, that's not God's love, that's fucking crazy talk and being oblivious to the world outside your chemically imbalanced head.

In fact, the only Peter whom I think I can even tolerate is Peter Griffin and he's a GD cartoon character so I don't even think he counts! But he's drunk and Irish and well, I do have a thing for the drunks and the Irish and the slackers of the world...

So you know what Peter ____ from the nameless office supply company, I've got three words for you: go fuck yourself. That's right...you wanna rat me out to my boss about my "refusing" to take your calls go right ahead, because you have no idea what can of worms you've opened for yourself...and the way I'm feeling lately, babe, I've got nothing to lose...you however, just might, and I'm going to make you cry.

I'll be patiently awaiting your call...

Kisses.

Mandy.