A Letter to the Radio Station That Plays the Same Songs Every Night

Look. 
I really don't listen to a lot of regular radio (save NPR). But I'll be honest: sometimes I like listening to your station and others like it because I just want a dose of entertaining, unthought-provoking songs I know and can absent-mindedly sing along to. 
So, at first, when your station was left playing all night, every night in a separate room I don't have access to, I didn't mind.
I sang along to "Iris." To "Bittersweet Symphony." To "One." To "Someone Like You." To "Paradise." And yes, by the end of a few nights in a row, even to "California Girls," and sadly, not the one by The Beach Boys.
(I'd link those to videos, but I don't want Johnny SOPA-Law knocking down my door and hauling me to internet jail.)
And I realize that I'm keeping vampire hours and that not that many folks are awake through the wee hours of the night. Most of your listenership is tucked snug in their beds, safe from the terror of repetitive radio.
I'm estimating the population of listeners, including me, is probably about six. So, I'm guessing the effort you put into constructing your overnight playlist is minimal. 
But please.
I beg you. 
For the sake of the six of us poor souls who want to maintain some sort of tolerant affection for Adele, U2, and the fabulously cheesy pop songs of our 90's youth (and maybe in order to cling to our waning sanity)-
Find some new songs!
There are literally millions of songs out there waiting to be played, begging for the nightlight to shine upon them once more. Why do you insist on spinning the shit out of the same 37 songs? Every. Single. Night. In roughly the same order, as well. 
This aggression will not stand, man! (Shhh, don't tell the SOPA police.)
Wait a minute. Do you need a new music director? Cuz, I know someone looking for a job. Let's talk. 
Wait. That probably won't work, will it? Since I am a human being and your radio station is run entirely by computers and salesfolks. 
I guess I'll have to learn to be a hacker and hack my way into your system to switch up the playlist. (First order of business? Avril Lavine's music is being deported straight back to the frozen wasteland of our friendly Northern neighbors. Sorey.)
And that hacker bit will come in handy for evading the SOPA fuzz.
So, never mind.
I guess we're good. I'll get it taken care of.

A Letter to the Wife-beating Owner of The Best Pizza Place in Town

How dare you?! What am I supposed to do now?
There is no way I can enjoy that delicious flaky crust, that tangy yet sweet marinara, that bubbly, melty, ooey, gooey, cheese now that I know you are a wife-beating bastard.
You couldn't have owned like Pizza Hut or something? Then your poor wife would have been locked in the bathroom dealing with her grease-logged, non-stop bowel movements and could have perhaps missed your blow.
No! You had to be the owner of the best pizza place in town. A place of which I have sung praises countless times. I've even boasted about your character when you demonstrated great customer service with witty banter. Apparently, we've learned now that though you are a good businessman, you are a shitty human being.
Our little town needed you, sir. We. Needed. You.
In a vast array of Applebees and other chain restaurants our city can't seem to get enough of, your little locally owned pizzeria brought cherished tasteful bliss to the mouths of hundreds.
But you cast that to the dogs, sir, as if it meant nothing.
You tossed it away like yesterday's crust.
My stomach grumbles with heartache.
Oh, we'll manage around our house, I suppose. We'll have to lean heavily on our Papas. (Murphy's and John's, that is). God forbid, maybe we'll even start eating more vegetables and less pizza.
So, maybe I should be thanking you.
Don't get me wrong, I hope your wife understands that the best place for her may be running off with Little Caesar or something. The coast of Italy is nice this time of year.
But I guess, on behalf of my waist line, I bid you thanks, you slimy low-life. On be half of my tastebuds, however, I bid you a swift kick in the
Gotta go. Pizza's here.

A Letter to the Thieving Woman Who Stole from Society's Most Vulnerable People

Dear Selfish, Abhorrent, Thieving Individual of the Lowest of the Low,


Seriously? Okay, okay....stealing in general is wrong. Yes? I think we can all agree on that. But stealing from individuals with developmental disabilities? Individuals who had known you and placed their trust in you for years? Individuals for whom trust has already been ripped from their hands and hearts repeatedly by shitty parents and other shady folks? My understanding of your way of thinking wanes and all I can think is...WTF? Who does that?


My stomach literally was tied up in knots when I heard of your actions. 


By the way, and yes, this brings this issue to a selfish light on my part, but a good portion of the money you swiped from those innocent, vulnerable people was money the state entrusted to them for their well being. In case you didn't know, because surely you're not the most clever of individuals, that money came from the money I gave the state in taxes. I don't want it back, really. That's fine. I would, however, like it returned to those who need it for their basic daily functions. And for that matter, it's money you gave the state in taxes too. Unless you committed tax evasion as well, which now seems entirely possible. But giving you the benefit of the doubt, because I'm guessing the state would have caught on to that fairly early on in the game, I'm guessing you paid at least a part of your taxes. So good job. Yeah, you stole from the most vulnerable in society and that makes you an incredible jackass. But the joke's on you. Way to go, robbing yourself blind. 


When the warden robs you from your jail cell, perhaps you'll understand. Because a good warden will certainly follow the Golden Rule and that frankly sucks for you.


Okay, I'm getting a bit carried away here. One of us has to be the adult, and to do that I should not resort to calling you names and wishing ill for ill. So I'm going to take a step back for a moment and try to understand just what the hell was going through your mind. 


I know you've got a couple of kids and I also know your salary is peanuts. That weighs on a person. I'm sure you want your children to be able to eat and keep warm in the harsh mid-western winter. Maybe you started out just taking a little here and there; enough to cover your son's lunch money or your daughter's field trip. From there it's a slippery slope, isn't it? Especially once you realized how easy it was. A dip here. A dip there. But then...then you got carried away. You got careless. You got greedy. You got caught. And your kids? Well, they might have full bellies, but a mom in prison may have more extensive negative results than having to eat lunch on the government's dime. I'm sure prison and the fate of your children with you in it was not what you were thinking. But, as stated previously, I really don't know what you were thinking. I don't know what you are thinking now and I don't know what you'll be thinking when those cold metal bars slam shut and you find yourself in a cell with nothing but time to think. My only hope is you'll realize (and thus lament) the weight of your preposterous actions, especially the further lack of trust you've now instilled in those who have already been burned and lack the capacity to do anything about it.


My heart goes out to you. It really does. For the desperation you must have felt to take from those most vulnerable or for your pure cluelessness as to how to be a decent human being. Which ever it is, I hope you get it figured out. Everyone involved deserves more in life than this. Even you. 

Welcome and Hello!

Welcome to Passive Aggressive Letters!

Thanks for stopping by! You'll find here an assortment of letters to people and inanimate objects who frankly just need a good talking to. But you know, in this day in age, who can bear to be confrontational? With this vast world of blogs, vlogs, and whatnot, I figure, why not just let out my witty aggression by hammering the the keyboard and just letting the pent up anger at the world's nonsense fly from the safety of my own home. Or coffee shop. Or office. Wherever I happen to be. 

So that's what this blog is for. While the letters themselves may not be so much passive aggressive (honestly, I'm generally a very straightforward person) the act of placing the outcries here, rather than directing them at the intended individual or object is a fairly passive aggressive act. 

And really, while I am just blasting out my frustrations via web, this is mostly just meant to be humorous and for entertainment purposes only. Occasionally, such as the first few posts, the topics can be relatively weighty, but I'll attempt to keep them lighthearted. 

Thanks for reading!