To: Meat
Re: Bologna

Look, obviously I respect you, Bologna. My ancestors, I assume, used to stalk the plains and fields, hunting wild bolognas and bringing them home to cook them over the fire that they put in their caves which is a bad place for a fire because it would fill with smoke but probably my ancestors were idiots like that. And then we domesticated the bologna and now it grows in farms where we’re cruel to it to save money because cruelty is always cheaper than not cruelty so we fill our world with cruelty like we filled our caves with smoke. That’s why I respect bologna manufacturers and why I definitely know what kind of meat it is.

And I accept that we spell it bologna but people call it baloney. That’s fine with me. If anything, it makes this one particular kind of meat have one interesting thing about it. You can trick people by asking them to spell it and if they get it correct they are secretly spies. Spies can’t help it because they’re idiots like that. That’s why I accept the discrepancies between spelling and pronunciation for bologna.

With all that said, my issue is this: I don’t eat bologna, so you might as well not make it anymore. Thanks!

With underwear,
Patrick D Ryall

To Whom It May Concern,

So, you’re making fake flowers over there I see. Nice work if you can get it. There’s always gonna be people and businesses who want to spruce up their surroundings, but can’t, for reasons ranging from being busy to being lazy, take care of living plants. These are the people who need to get fake plants. So good on you for helping those people to get what they need.

But there is one way I think you’re dropping the ball here. I’ve seen plenty of fake plants over the years. I’ve seen fake plants that look like real plants. I’ve seen fake plants that don’t look very good at all and just look like terribly shabby fake plants. I’ve even seen real plants that looked fake to me, but that has nothing to do with you, so don’t worry about it. But what I’m not seeing in fake plants is what I want most of all: Fake plants that look like real fake plants.

That is to say I want there to be fake plants that are of good quality, that look like real plants, but that are not based on real existing plants. You’re not confined by the laws of nature, fake plant makers, you can do whatever you want. You should be going balls-out crazy when you’re designing fake plants. You can make leaves with a rainbow of colors, or roses that curl around like crazy straws. You have just got to use your imagination. Or, if you don’t have one of those, just drop some acid, hang out in a garden and make note of the trippy flowers you see. Something like that. All I’m saying is that you don’t have to waste your time making fake versions of flowers we already have. Do something new and exciting.

Oh, one last note: I don’t know anything about plants. If you’re already making brand new types of flowers that don’t really exist, I wouldn’t know it. But keep doing it. Just do it cooler.

Peace and Love,
Patrick D Ryall

Dear My MP3 Player,

I lost you on the bus, I think, or maybe when I was just getting onto the bus. My MP3 player, I assure you that it wasn’t intentional. I had you playing, as I always did, and a song had just ended as I was getting on the bus, so I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t hear music for a moment, but then when I didn’t hear a song start up again, I checked for you and only found the end of the headphone cord. You were gone. Maybe you caught on something as I stepped onto the bus and fell onto the ground. I couldn’t find you on the floor of the bus.

You may have been an old MP3 player that I would often find reason to complain about. You had no option to play randomly and you had to spend three minutes “updating” every time I recharged you. But you were purple, which was cool. And you took a lot of damage, which is a useful skill for anything I own. You served me well for several years and now I miss you.

But that isn’t the main reason for this letter, MP3 Player. The main thing I need to say is that you are an MP3 Player, you can not read letters. Please stop reading this. It is freakin’ me out. Stop it.

Yours ponderously,
Patrick D Ryall