A letter from my Niece

They grow up so fast.

Dear Uncle Cory,

Get your doodoo together! I mean, you're like 33 or something (that's like a hundred and fifty in baby years). Seriously, Uncle Cory, the kids on the playground are starting to ask questions. I got enough trouble already with Mom putting me in these K-Mart diapers when all the other kids are crawling around in their Huggies. Now every time I show off my new Pop up book with four finger puppets (Sorry, Emily ate the fifth, she offered but I really don’t want it back now) from my single uncle living in a New York City apartment with a balding guy and a giant jar of pickles I always have to say, "but he likes girls!" Take care of business soon or I'm coming out there with a puppy and a shirt that says "He's my Uncle" and finding you a lady who looks like she'll buy me some good Christmas presents!!

Seriously Concerned,

Your Niece (Sorry, I haven't learned to spell my name yet.)

P.S. How do you like the Harry Potter glasses? Tre chic, no?

Letter to a Pro

A sincere auto-formatted letter you can send to your favorite athlete.

Dear Professional athlete,

First off, let me start by saying I am your biggest fan. You (hit,catch,throw) the ball so well. You are truly my hero. While the other players walk you run, when they jump you jump higher, and surely your hits are the hardest of them all. Every time you hit the ball I think wow, this guy is really going to be able to bang some chicks.

I shall live vicariously through you. I have to because honestly, the jersey I wear, a little too often, with your name on the back, doesn't really pull in the chicks for me like it does you. Of course I don't have the physique you have. You don't wear a XXXL do you?

No, your uniform is tight. Skin tight. Which is another reason I admire you so much. It takes a real man to wear clothes that would get most men outside a stadium beat up or picked up. I admire the fact that you take such a strong stance against homosexuality while still being able to wear a uniform that attracts many of them to you. That's guts all the way.

One of the coolest things about you is your willingness to show the world your deep commitment to your religion. Every time the pressure is on, you turn to God in front of millions of viewers. Only with the fortitude of a real man could you look to the heavens and say world and it's wars, strife and famine be damned, help me bring this one home lord!

My wife says I spend too much time watching your games. She doesn't realize that seven hours every Sunday is the least I can do for someone who has brought me such joy. She can't possibly understand the relationship you and I have and that yelling out, "that's my boy" when your making a big play is something reserved for that special bond we have. To hell with her and what she says. I know if the situation were reversed you'd ignore your wife for me, too. And I know you would definitely make your kids wear team jerseys on game day. You can't get these kids started too early, right?! This is Daddy's team so now it's your team too. Nothing like spending a Sunday watching the games with the kids. That's what I call quality time.

Some people say what you do doesn't matter. Yeah sure, if there were a nuclear war tomorrow I might have to turn my attention elsewhere but it's not like that's going to happen, right. Yeah, I guess there is a war or something but I got one of those $1.99 yellow ribbons they sell at Walmart so I've done all I can for that. Besides, it would be un-American of me to let these terrorists bastards stop me from drinking a beer, eating my pizza and watching the next game. God bless this country and god bless you. Go (insert team name)!!

Your biggest fan,

Sports fan

A letter from the honorable Senator Westmoreland

As a member of the Republican Senator Lynn Westmoreland fanclub, I thought I'd share the most recent letter I received.

Dear Fanclub,

It’s all over the liberal news so you’ve probably heard by now, yes, it’s true, I called Barrack Obama “uppity.” Now, I told the liberal press that I didn’t know the word was offensive but y’all know I knew. What can I say, I’m from Georgia. Being from Georgia and not being racist is like being half black and not being an unholy muslim. It just don’t make no sense. 

Now, the leftist conspiracy mill has of recent run amuck with rumors of me and a certain gentleman locking ourselves into the local Blue Oyster bar’s bathroom. Let me put this cow to pasture once and for all. Truth be told here, I have to say that since the democraps stold congress, well, my pay just ain’t what it used to be. As many of you already know, I was not always just a hardworking lawmaker. No, my patriotism extends from the halls of congress all the way to your septic tank. I do a little side plumbing from time to time and on this particular occasion, my assistant, Sven and I, were knee deep in it ya’ll. That’s also accounting for why Sven was wearing his red sequined speedos. The man loves his work and ain’t afraid to get deep into it. God bless him! So you see, simple and innocent. Did I mention my middle name ain’t Hussein. 

God Bless America, the great state of Georgia, and anybody who doesn’t vote for that Uppity Obama boy. 

Sincerely,

Senator Lynn Westmoreland