An open letter: To the rest of everything.

First off, Thank you for reading my letter. It's all I can do to coordinate my movements so much as to punch each key on my keyboard. I am past tired, and as such, cranky, hungry and very, very whiny.

So let's start out by addressing my ankles. Well, really only my left ankle. It really frickin' hurts, and I have to walk home. I'm not a huge fan of that and quite frankly, ankle, you need to fix thyself, before being faced with the wrath of my almighty tenser bandage. If you don't fix, I swear, I'll wrap you good. Don't make me do it.

Next, TV - dinners. Though you bolster a tastey brownie in each pack, and chicken that, given the proper circumstance, I'd kill for, they are really... REALLY not good for my tummy. On further review, I'm quite unhappy with the lie that is the packaging of TV dinners. Sure, they seem supple and nutritious.. believe me.. Nay.

Lastly, at least for this energy-drink induced, late-night-shift tirade, on the docket is those crackers that taste like butter. I can't remember what you're called, but you're born into green boxes with three sleeves each. How tastey you are. Even without any dip, cheese, meat or any topping at all, I have no problem polishing off a sleeve of your crispy brethren. Thank you, tastey butter cracker, for all that you are.

That is all.

Moi.