Monday

stolen from mcsweeney's

Dear Mr. President,

You can be walking down the street and suddenly bump your head into someone else's thought. Sex thoughts are the biggest. They come in the shape of toast, or falling leaves.

I used to skip along on a beautiful song called dirt. Once some big boys beat me up and kicked the song in my face.

Our tree house was the closest point to the moon.

Sincerely,
Eric Morgan

Dear Mr. President,

I feel rather betrayed about the whole weapons of mass destruction thing. I think you owe your constituents an apology. You portrayed the situation as an "imminent threat," but clearly it was not. In hindsight I feel foolish for defending you when the war began. By doing so, my reputation has been criticized.

At least make an attempt at legitimizing the whole ordeal to the public.

Sincerely,
Kevin Andrews

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