Where oh where would I be without you?
 

I’ve always relied on the likes of Hallmark and American Greetings to convey my innermost thoughts. Like that card with a cartoon frog that says, “Hope you have a Hoppy Birthday!” That captures the essence of my sentiments better than anything else could. I’ve never been especially eloquent, so greeting cards have always been a beloved shorthand to express my feelings.
 

But there’s always been a gap, a void - maybe even a huge hole in the ground? - in other lines of greeting cards. How can I express my feelings about September 11th? A holiday without a card? The very thought seems absurd, but there you have it. No cheesy poems, no anthropomorphic cartoon characters - heck, not even a Ziggy comic! What could I do?
 

Then, you come along with cards that say exactly what I’ve been thinking: “Happy 9/11!” Why not? We wish people a Happy 4th of July - and who knows how many people died then? We wish people a Happy Halloween, even though razors in candy apples make it the scariest holiday ever. We even wish people a Happy Easter, even though it commemorates the death of Mel Gibson.
 

So I’m with you, Happy 9/11 Cards, and I’m sending a card to everyone I know - and have great Pearl Harbor Day too!

You feel our pain! You do. You know exactly what it’s like being awkward and alone and misunderstood. And unloved by everyone, and knowing deep in our heart of hearts that we’ll never ever find true love - especially since Kristin in science lab checked “No” in response to the “Do you want to go out with me?” note.
 

And now they want to ban you in Russia? God that makes me so sad. All those poor Russian kids who won’t get to feel my pain. How will they cope? Boys won’t be allowed to wear eyeliner or dark mascara. Even black hair dye will be illegal. What about old man hats? Or ill-fitting ties? Well, at least they can still cut themselves in secret.
 

Emo songs, we love you. No, love isn’t the right word, because it’s too general, you know? Like every stupid, dopey Hallmark card uses the word “love,” so our society has completely lost touch with what love really is, you know? What we mean is: emo songs you understand us. Your hair, it really is everywhere.
 

It’s just so hard being an effete, sensitive boy who wears make-up - but totally isn’t gay, I swear! - in today’s world. But emo songs, you make it a little bit easier.
 

You killed Friendster. Look, don’t try to deny it, and don’t think we’ve forgotten either. We know. And we’re still sad about it. You come along with your unlimited photo uploads and html customization, and you think you’re all that. But where has that gotten us, MySpace, huh? Where?
 

I’ll tell you where: “Sorry! An unexpected error has occurred.” Unexpected? Really, MySpace? You know we have a hard time believing that it was really so unexpected, since it seems to happen a hundred billion times a day. Maybe it should read: “Doh! A completely expected error has occured.” Look, MySpace, it’s over.
 

Yeah, you think you’ve got cache, just because there’s still a handful of twelve-year-olds out there who haven’t made the switch to Facebook yet. But they’re coming, trust us, they’re coming. But you’ve got glitter graphics! And the pornographic spambots clearly still prefer you!
 

But let’s face reality, shall we? You’re old. You’re a dinosaur. Heck, you’re John McCain! You don’t have fake Scrabble or poking. It takes a day and a half to load any images on your site - and even then, it’s always the dumb “Punch Osama Bin Laden” game that loads first.
 

Basically, what we’re saying, MySpace, is this: We’re not friends anymore.
 

By Leonard H.

Yeah, you think you’re cool, but you’re not. Or more likely, you don’t particularly care what the kids think is cool these days. Or you just wish those kids would get off your damn lawn so you could drive around it in your golf cart.
 

Here’s the thing: as bipedal hominids, we have these things called legs. We walk around on them. It’s worked for millennia of human evolution, so we think it will work fine for you too. But if that doesn’t work for you, we’ve recently invented this other thing. It’s called a wheelchair. So people who don’t have legs or whose legs don’t work can roll around on wheels. Yeah, we guess it’s like roller-skating, if that’s the only other point of reference you have. But the point is, it’s for people who can’t use their legs - not people who are too lazy.
 

Then, for longer distances, like a couple of miles or so, we have this other-other thing called a car. Yeah, it’s kind of like a golf cart, except for one huge difference: you don’t look like a complete tool when your drive around in it. (Well, unless your car is a Hummer, but that’s a different story altogether.)
 

See, when you play golf, you’re allowed to look like a tool. Heck, you’re encouraged - even required - to look like a tool. That’s why you’re supposed to wear polo shirts, V-neck vests and argyle socks in weird bright, checkered colors. (No, they don’t look good on you, and whoever told you they did was a liar.)
 

And you’re supposed to look like a tool, because that’s the whole point of golf. You’re at the country club where annual dues and more than a college education, driving around on greens that have the highest property values in the city, and drinking bloody marys even though it’s barely noon, you wiley old fox, you. You have money to burn, and you like it. So no two-bit hipsters with fashion sense are going to tell you how to dress or what to drive, thank you very much.
 

But when you’re out in public - and running for the President of the United States - tool with money to burn may not be the image you want to project. Just saying.
 

By Leonard H.

This is the single biggest movie event in comic book history so why in blue blazes did you cast the pretty boy from the gay cowboy movie as the Joker?
 

Heath Ledger will never beat Jack Nicholson’s Joker. Jack’s Joker was an icon! The Joker from Tim Burton’s Batman was a hilarious, wise-cracking crime boss. And people like to talk about acting range. Range? To be quite honest, it looks like Ledger is simply playing himself - like always. Jack Nicholson, to contrast, became the Joker. You see that bone white skin and bright green hair? That deep purple suit? That’s pure, unadulterated acting! There wasn’t a trace of Nicholson in the entire movie. I honestly forgot he was even in it. All throughout The Dark Knight I just kept wondering when Julia Styles was gonna pop out for an impromptu paintball battle with the Joker. You should have just cast the kid from Third Rock as Robin and been done with it.
 

I mean, look at that amazing scene. What’s more menacing than a green-haired, white-faced clown dancing to Prince and throwing out loads of money?
 

Nothing!
 

By Erik C.

Um, please stay away from me. And while you’re at it, please stay away from my siblings, and any children I may ever have, and pretty much every young person everywhere.
 

Believe me, you were creepy enough when I was a youth. The sing-alongs, the earnestness, even the shoulder massages that had to be nonsexual - since premarital sex was an affront to God right? - even though they went pretty low down my back. Weird.
 

And now one of you commits murder? Now, I know it’s not fair to judge all of you based on Joshua Rosa. Yeah, he’s just one bad apple, but why doesn’t this surprise me at all? I’m your age now, in my twenties, and the thought of spending an extended period of time - actually, make that any time at all - with teenagers sounds like hell on a stick. So pardon me if I blanketly assume you’re all pedophiles, because good lord, who actually wants to spend their time with teenagers?
 

Okay, you do, you want to spend your time with teenagers. It’s your calling or whatever. And I know that teenagers are frustrating. Maybe it’s entirely understandable that one or two 13-year-olds get strangled along the way. But how about all the molesting, huh? I can’t even get halfway through my morning paper without reading about you copping feels, or distributing pornography, or soliciting sex. It’s getting old, guys - just like you.
 

Look, I get it. High school sucked. But couldn’t you make peace with those demons the way the rest of us do? Living vicariously through John Hughes movies.
 

By Leonard H.

We’re getting a little worried here. Up until recently, we were totally convinced your subtle shift towards the middle was just an act. A ploy, a ruse if you will, designed to capture some of the hearts and minds of the heartland. We were thinking you simply didn’t want to appear “too black” or “too liberal” - because, for some insane reason, those have become derogatory terms lately. Don’t wanna scare Ed and Martha away. They’ll go see a Will Smith movie in a second but might have second thoughts about a black guy running the country.
 

We were convinced you were one of us. Fed up with the system and pissed at the way the world sees us, but aware that in order to change things you’d have to work from the inside. And that meant playing it cool; gaining their confidence; saying a few things that maybe you didn’t believe just to get a foothold. That’s when the real change would occur, right?
 

RIGHT?
 

Your constant affirmations of your Christianity are cool. After all, you are a Christian and tons of people seem to believe the ridiculous email forwards they receive from “concerned Americans” regarding your “Islamic madrassa background.” And we loved your frank discussion about your drug use. You took it head on and now it’s a non-issue. But as the election draws nearer, we worry that you’re starting to bend to the controversies. Your platform visibly reacts to each new bullsh*t rumor, rather than destroying it. And, sure enough, you seem to be shifting to the right - ever so slightly.
 

Look, those people who took a look at the New Yorker cover and saw their fears realized were never gonna vote for you in the first place. Nothing you can do to change their minds. And that “YES” vote on the FISA bill granting retroactive immunity to telecommunications companies actively involved in illegal wiretapping - what the hell, man? Correct us if we’re wrong, but we seem to remember you vowing to filibuster any bill with retroactive immunity provisions. What happened to that guy? Even McCain refused to vote on that one!
 

Strangely enough, though, your polling has improved. We guess it’s working, which is great. We want you in office. We really do. We just hope you’re still that same guy we fell in love with once you get there.
 

By Erik C.

Did you have to? I mean, really. We know you think you’re edgy and all that, but we kind of preferred you to be old and stodgy with pretentious movie reviews and unreadable short stories. We’re not so keen about this American psyche, political zeitgeist nonsense. We like it better when you stick to what you’re good at.
 

You know what we’re talking about: the Obama cover. Man, you don’t think the man is busy enough with damage control? Heck, we’re still getting those crackpot emails, and now he has to defend against you too? Yeah, that’s really hilarious, guys. Hey, next time there’s an anthrax scare, how about sending him an envelope full of flour? That humor seems right up your alley.
 

Oh, and don’t worry, we get it, we get it. Yeah, you’re not mocking Obama, you’re mocking the rightwing fantasy of Obama. You’re mocking all the nutjobs who think that he actually is the turban-wearing terrorist depicted in your cartoon. But here’s the thing, those people, they don’t do irony so much. They’ll take one look at the cover and think you’ve finally broken the story!
 

But you, you’re all about irony. That’s why your cover was so freaking hilarious, right? If that exact cover had appeared on Fox News or the Wall Street Journal, ho boy, there would be hell to pay! It wouldn’t have been ironic at all in those cases, cause the only thing that was ironic about your cover in the first place was the fact that it was on The New Yorker. And everyone knows that you know better! That’s right they do!
 

You’d never be racist or suggest that Obama was a Muslim, cause you’re The New Yorker, man! You know better than that! You know better than all the people who think those things. Stupid people. All those stupid people who don’t read The New Yorker…
 

By Leonard H.

Hey, dude ahead of me in a old-school Camry, you need to speed up. And dude ahead of him, and dude ahead of him, could you all step on the gas please?
 

Yes, I notice the guy on the side of the road changing his tire. Believe me, I have been that guy more than a few times in the past. But you know what? Not a big deal. I’ve seen people change tires before. Not very interesting. Now, if it were, say, Jessica Alba changing her tire, I might pause to have a look at that too. But it’s not, it’s just some dude with a little car trouble, and we really don’t need to pay any attention to him.
 

I know he is a traffic obstruction, and he IS slowing down traffic, but here’s the crazy thing, guys: you’re actually slowing down traffic WAY MORE than he ever was.
 

No, really, guys, we’re not helping him by staring. (In fact, just a wild shot in the dark here, but I bet it annoys him too.) And no, you’re not just checking to see if he needs help, you’re just being gullible sheep - and I’ve got a movie to catch in ten minutes, and I’d really like to get there in time for the previews. (I like previews.)
 

Seriously. Maybe I’m not making myself clear here, but we really need to move this traffic along. Do you know how many car accidents are caused by rubbernecking? Do you? Well, it’s four hundred billion annually. Where did I get that statistic? I just made it up, okay? Look, do you actually want me to pull out my iPhone right here and now, check the statistic, and slow down traffic even more? How about you just stop staring at the poor dude and speed up for me?
 

Unless you want me to puncture your tire too…
 

By Leonard H.

Seeing as how we live and work in the US, we’re stumped as to why we keep coming across British business contacts in our email threads. For the most part, they’ve assimilated into American society quite well - elevators are elevators, and apartments are still apartments. Fag is acknowledged as a derogatory term, so they opt for the more Americanized “cancer stick.” The holdover is, of course, their propensity to conclude each and every email with “cheers.”
 

It makes us wonder what accounts for the recent massive influx of British workers. It’s probably not a yearning for religious and economic freedom like last time. Also strange is how they manage to mask their accent quite well in face-to-face or phone-to-phone contact; these guys must have Christian Bale’s accent coach, yet they can’t seem to shake “cheers”!
 

Pleasantries aside, is there anything more annoying than Americans opting for “cheers” instead of “sincerely” or even “finest regards”? Cheers is an acceptable pre-drinking toast, and it was one of the greatest sitcoms of all time, but spitting out “cheers” in an email - if you’re not British - just reeks of pretension. It doesn’t make you sound more sophisticated or friendly - it’s just annoying.
 

“Cheers” also just sounds terrible in an American accent - even on paper. When a British guy says “cheers” to us, we swoon and feel all tingly and special; when an American dude says “cheers” instead of “goodbye,” we shudder and die a little bit inside. So knock it off, Americans. There’s nothing worse than a hip Santa Monica PR guy signing off with “cheers.” And don’t even try “wanker” or “peckish.” Just don’t. The only acceptable American iteration of “cheers” involves clinking glasses, an alcoholic bartender, a sadsack mailman, and a sassy barmaid. Period.
 

By Erik C.