An Open Letter, To Hell In a Handbasket, Warning: Strident Feminism Ahead

Forbes Errata

Dear Forbes,

There was an egregious typo in a column you recently published on your website. In the forward-thinking and insightful piece “Drunk Female Guests are the Greatest Threat to Fraternities,” you accidentally spelled “Entitled Sexist¬†Frat Brothers” as “Drunk Female Guests.”

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An Open Letter, Jesus H. Christ

I am a fat woman. Here’s what you should say when you see me at the gym.

Nothing at all. If you’re tempted to say something to me, close your eyes and pretend you’re looking at a not-fat person. Would you say anything to that person? If not, don’t say it to me.

That would be a short and boring blog post, so I will expand.

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An Open Letter, Effed-Up Shit, Warning: Strident Feminism Ahead

Hey, gym? How long would it take you to redecorate if you hung a dick pic and a single bodybuilder complained?

This is an actual email I had to send to my gym. I don’t want to be driven back into the grasping arms of New York Sports Club or, god forbid, Crunch, but I will if it means I get to lift weights without having to stare at porn.

Also: AAARGH.

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An Open Letter, Building teh Interwebz

To whoever’s in charge of viral marketing at the toy company that just left a bunch of spammy comments here: your work is, perhaps, slightly misdirected. Although I don’t doubt that many¬†King of States! readers enjoy a good plastic dollhouse, there are likely other blogs where you could more profitably focus your spammerfic efforts.

Also not appropriate: spam from “Women Against F-Bombs.”

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An Open Letter, It's 3AM; I must be lonely.

To the Housekeeper Taking Care of the Ninth Floor of My Hotel

I bought an apple yesterday, intending to eat it this morning. I like apples cold and crispy, so I left it by the open bathroom window. Then I decided to shower, so I moved the apple to the bedroom window. In the night, it was too cold to keep the bedroom window open, so I shut it, re-opened the bathroom window, and moved the apple back there. This morning, I forgot to eat the apple. As I was getting ready to leave for the day, I heard a gust of wind roll the apple off the sill, but I was running late and promptly forgot about it.

And that’s why there’s an apple in the bathtub of room 909.

UPDATE! When I returned to my room tonight, the apple had been neatly replaced on the sill.

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An Open Letter, Effed-Up Shit, To Hell In a Handbasket

To the Asshole on 3rd Between Folsom and Howard, Thank You

Hi there! I hope you got home safely last night. By which I mean, “I hope someone sidled up to you as you walked down the street, high on friendship and Thai food, then grabbed your genitalia, followed you down the street, and lurked outside your building.” This glorious nightcap to an otherwise lovely day shouldn’t be available only to women, am I right? Let’s spread the love!

Actually, I don’t hope that at all, because unlike you, I’m not an asshole.

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