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.


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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.”

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.

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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An Open Letter, Warning: Strident Feminism Ahead, You've Built a Crawl Space Under Your All-Time Low

Maybe I should re-name this blog to “Things I Shouldn’t Have to Say.”

Dear Wayne Nutnot,

Your “edgy” and “humorous” post about how you are a feminist but find female genitalia to be “objectively gross” is neither edgy nor humorous nor feminist. Attempting to generate laughs by degrading women is one of the oldest tricks in the book. If you’re going to do it, at least do it well enough that I’m disgusted but begrudgingly in awe of your wit. This is a hack job, and you know it. Cheap clicks.

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An Open Letter, Hellhounds

An Open Letter to the Westin Copley Place Boston

Dear Westin Copley Place Boston,

Your pillow-topped bed was luxurious, your clam chowder delicious, and your employees just on the right side of obsequious.

When I filled out my post-stay survey, I didn’t enter anything into the “What could we have done to improve your stay?” field. Upon further reflection, I would like to suggest that you make large fluffy dogs available to your guests.


I know there are some hotels that loan goldfish to their pet-deprived guests, to which I say: have you ever tried to spoon with a goldfish? I burned through 17 of those suckers before I gave up, and then I had to have the sheets changed in the middle of the night. Not fun.

The specimen to your left, from genus Chester J. Lampwick and Felix P. Hoernicker, are highly experienced snugglers and would be available to fill the role for a modest salary, payable in dried liver treats.

I await your reply.