best iPhone app ever

TO:  iPHONE CUSTOMER SERVICE, PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT, APPLICATION SERVICES...REALLY ANYBODY AT iPHONE OR AFFILIATE WHOSE CHECKS ARE SIGNED BY STEVE JOBS.  THIS LETTER REALLY NEEDS TO GET TO HIM.

FROM:  A. PETTICOAT

The new iPhones can do SO much awesome shit.  So that makes me think...what can they not do yet?

Take revenge on my enemies is what!

I'm talking about fucking them up!

I want a downloadable app that will turn all the stoplights green as my enemy nears the intersection.

I want an easily affordable app where I can type in what my enemy is having for dinner as we meet at a neutral site for a truce and it will then tell me which poison is best to blend into the food.  Arsenic is no good with Italian, everybody knows that, but what other advice goes beyond that?  I DO NOT have time to google it, my enemy only takes like thirty seconds to pee.  If he's a he.  If it's a girl, maybe I just google it then.

How about involving throwing stars in this app?  Throwing stars is something that seems like it'd be easy for an iPhone to do. 

I want a sleek, customizable app that will frame my enemy for a murder.  This revenge scenario will likely require the phone itself to also be capable of murder, in case the owner is not.

The app should also have the ability to falsify documents, forms of identification, and possibly launder money.

Steve, when this finds you, let me know what you think of my ideas.  Just to keep the playing field level--or perhaps with just a slight edge in your favor--I also sent this idea to Bill Gates.  But legend has it he takes FOREVER to check his email.  Don't take it personal...I'm ready to get paid, bitches!

A.P. 

time-traveling chevy chase

Today we have a letter whose sights are zeroed-in on perennial soft target, Chevy Chase.  With time-traveling abilities.

TO:  CHEVY CHASE OF PRESENT DAY

FROM:  CHEVY CHASE CIRCA 1987

Present-day Chevy,

Two words:  Bill Murray.  It didn't have to be like this.  In fact, you should be the one writing this letter to me, like Marty McFuckin McFly, warning me cleverly about where I will initially head down the wrong track.  Where's the clairvoyance, you fatass hamhog unfunny piece of shit?  I guarantee you the future Bill Murray wrote this letter.  But you, I bet you're too busy waving around that little vienna sausage dick of yours, aren't you?  I don't have to guess what you were up to for the last two decades.  I know what kind of stuff I'm into, and it sickens me to look in the mirror.

Oh, Chevy.  If only they could all see inside our disgusting black heart.

This letter, if you're interested, is just to inform you that I made an appointment with an assassin in a Colombian cartel to break into my house while I sleep and chop my fuckin dick off with a machete.  This is the only way I know of to stop you from the diabolical, mediocre path you have set before me.

Feel free to unzip your pants and observe that you have no penis--maybe no balls either, my Spanish is quite poor.  That withered little abomination of a reproductive organ is history.  He is set to perform this merciful act (or, at your place on the timeline, performed this merciful act) in 2005.  Your (and my) failure is essentially in the books by then, from what I can tell.

This doesn't have to happen.  I can cancel the order anytime.  You think I want to ransom my own dick and possibly balls, Chevy?  You of all people know how hard this is for me.

If you want your precious dick and balls back, YOU WILL find a way to keep me from ruining my career and YOU WILL work out a scheme to get that letter to me before it's too late.  I will not suck mightily for the second half of my life.  I refuse to gaze back at Clark W Griswold and a fuckin golf movie character as the apex of my career.

Set up a trusted courier (do you ever trust anyone in your misty, drug-fueled life?) to deliver the letter to my mansion once I'm exceptionally rich and losing basic awareness of reality.  Ziplock it and slip it into the dampest vagina you can find in my favorite Tokyo whorehouse and tell her to birth it to me after we have an established customer/client relationship.  I don't care how you get it to me, but get it to me.
The sooner the better, obviously.

80's Chevy Chase 

makin me look bad

 

TO: AIDS

FROM: HIV

Quit makin me look bad, MUTHA-FUCKA!

--HIV

pencil-thin chinstrap

I had a problem and yo Vanilla Ice solved it!

Today's letter was almost going to be TO THE HIPSTER MUSTACHE, WHOSE INTENDED IRONY IS BECOMING IRONIC ITSELF, but chinstraps are more fun, I think.

TO:  THE WEARERS OF THE PENCIL-THIN CHINSTRAP BEARD

FROM:  ALEJANDRO "I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW YOU KEEP THAT CHINSTRAP BEARD SO AMAZINGLY THIN" PETTICOAT

Yo, the all the womens is flockin to your junk based on your choice of facial hair design!

Every single one of you, down to the very last dude, looks like a watered-down version of that guy from Color Me Badd.

WHICH IS FUCKIN SWEET, BY THE WAY!  It is no coincidence that Color Me Badd was easily one of the top five greatest gifts ever bestowed unto the female gender.  Hands down.  HANDS DOWN!

That being said, I'd like for you to consider this an ode, though without any of the formal constraints of verse.  The pencil-thin chinstrap beard is the ultimate weapon for the male against female selection.  This is known.  Darwin wrote about this.  No woman within the normal ages of sexual reproduction can resist it.  Boys learn this as early as middle school.  If you have an ultra-thin line of facial hair meticulously groomed along the contours of your jawline, a female will copulate with you under almost any circumstances.  If all men had the discipline and debonair style of the thinly-chinstrapped man, the world would overpopulate until it toppled out of orbit from the weight of all the newborn babies. 

The chinstrap can be gangster, indicating toughness and a rugged nonchalance.  If I'm wearing it I'm saying, Hey, I'm reckless.  I'm potentially kinda gangster-ish.  If you need me to show up on the scene in a tilted hat, I can be there.

But also--also!!--the pencil-thin chinstrap can denote a refined level of sophistication.  It can serve as a dapper accessory to a tie and a collared shirt.  It can say, if you need me to show up for my court date in reading glasses as if I wear them every day, I can.  And will.

Some people want to hate on the pencil-thin chinstrap and all of you fine fellows who sport it.  Penguins included.  They want to say that you are all posers.  For the record, I totally disagree, and I hope you that you never, ever shave that fine line of facial hair circumnavigating your chin.  I realize that, by endorsing you, I am greatly reducing my chances to ever get any of that sweet poon that flocks to your strap, but I don't want you to worry about me.  You just keep being you.  Nothing says sexy and debonair like that well-kempt shit you've decided to grow on your face.  This is bigger than any of us.  This goes back to brave men like that guy from Color Me Badd, like Vanilla Ice.  Such is the company you keep, my friends.

**Upon closer study, this isn't exactly a pencil-thin chinstrap on my man Vanilla here.  Actually, it's just a shadow.  But the fact is that the good ones, the astoundingly razor-thin chinstraps, are too elusive for even the internet to record in history.  They are the snow leopards of beardly design.  And you KNOW that V.I. has at least once (and probably multiple times) in his life been among the tribe of thinly-chinstrapped men.
  
Word to ya motha!  
Petticoat