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To the men of the world

Dear Men of Planet Earth,

I’m sympathetic, slightly. I don’t understand the appeal, but I know that for some reason, God created you to be attracted a certain way, and He created women to appeal to that attraction. Here’s the thing: When we’re having a conversation, I (as a woman) am looking at your eyes. I SEE you. I see your eyes dart away from mine. I SEE YOU. Do you get that? When you’re walking past me in a hallway, and we make eye contact, and then your eyes dart down, I SEE YOU. We all see you. I’d love to say that it’s flattering, but when your wife is standing a few feet away, or happens to be one of my friends . . . it’s sick, and it’s awkward. So you think boobs are cool. Awesome. I’m not a guy (or a lesbian), so I totally don’t get it. But I know that they’re private, and that these girls aren’t yours. So do the women of the world a favor and work on your eye contact, and remember, WE SEE YOU. EVERY. TIME.

Today’s letter was written by Anonymous
Written From: Hot hot heat, TX
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Dear Punk Rock Dads

Thank you for giving a shit and reminding me what a real father looks like.

By society’s standards you are the least qualified human beings to ever enter parenthood. You’re irresponsible, you’re immature, you’re never home and you look ridiculous with your leopard print hair. Your entire youth has been spent fighting against the authority that you have now become.

Which is what makes you the most qualified person to ever raise a child.

You get the pain and the angst that kids go through. You understand the toll that a broken home can play on the life a child. You understand, more than most, the sacrifice that is involved in keeping a family together. You choose to be present in the moments that you are physically there because you know that those moments can be few and far between.

For those of us dads who are physically there most of the time but absent nonetheless, there is a lot that we can learn from you.

Your language may be foul. Your antics may not win you father of the year. But you have given a voice to entire generation and now you are raising the next one. You will do well and the world will change because of it.

‎Maybe the way we change the world is by raising better kids and being more attentive to those kids. Instead of writing a punk rock song maybe we just need to be better parents. I want to be around my kids, I want to be there when they want me to be there. I think that’s the punkest thing of all.

– Jim Lindberg (Pennywise)


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Making People’s Day, One Chicken Breast at a Time

Dear Blue Haired Meat Seller,

I’m turning thirty, have a full head of gray hair and am so out of shape that I’m starting to resemble Mr. Potato Head. A simple compliment about how cool my hair looks and how the color of my shirt makes it that much better, absolutely made my day.

Everyone has to work at some point. What you reminded me is that it’s not what we’re doing but rather what we DO with what we’re doing.

We can choose to grumble through the school course we hate or shitty job we have making sure that everyone knows how terrible life is and how we are so hard done by. That’s easy. Playing the victim is easy. But instead of focusing on how crappy our situation is and putting our energy towards bringing a bit of light the gloom that may be surrounding others, our crappy situation becomes that much less crappy  because life is not always about us. And we forget that all too often.

“Everyone likes a compliment don’t they?”

That is a question that I will not forget for a very long time.

Thank you.


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Dear Maimed Cyclist

It’s frustrating that the first thought to enter my head as I drove passed your limp body sprawled out in the middle of the highway was “What in the hell are you doing riding your bike in the middle of the highway?”

It’s frustrating that so many others were stopping but I didn’t want to get involved so I kept driving.

It’s frustrating that I assumed I couldn’t do anything anyway and that I’d simply get in the way.

It’s frustrating that this was and usually is my default position.

It’s frustrating that I don’t know if you’re okay. It’s frustrating that this letter is about me when I’m safe at home rocking on a porch swing with a drink in hand while you may not even see the sun rise tomorrow.



(Why does everything have to be about me?)


               – Dave


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Swagger Steve

Dear Swagger Steve,

I love seeing how confident you are when you cross the street. It seems as though you have somewhere to go but you don’t care if whoever your meeting has to wait ’cause walking there is style is far more important.

You’re swaggerin’.

Left shoulder dipping while your right foot shuffles, periodically glancing at the cars around you to make sure at least one person is recognising your cross walk steez.

Don’t worry. I noticed.


Today’s letter was written by Anonymous Twitter: Blog: Written From: The front seat of my car
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To the man who opened the door for me today,

You didn’t just make sure I caught the door as you brushed by, on your way to wherever you were going. No. You stopped, opened the door, and stepped aside to let me in. Thank you.

It really is the little things that can make someone’s day.


Today’s letter was written by Anonymous Twitter: Blog: Written From: Manhattan, KS
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Killing Two Birds With One Stone

Dear Magazine Driver, Today I was in a bit of a hurry and I couldn’t be bothered to be stuck behind a slow driver. I know, I know. I’m impatient at times. I could tell that you were in no hurry to get anywhere by the fact that you were driving 5 km/h under the speed limit and by the way you slowly inched forward after a stop light turned green. When I pulled up beside you at the next stop light I knew exactly why. When I glanced inside your driver’s side window I expected to a senior citizen white knuckling it because the road terrifies them. What I was not expecting was a senior citizen reading a magazine that was draped over the steering wheel and eyes that glanced up and down as if they were watching a yo-yo. I should’ve been scared to death that you were operating a vehicle beside me. But instead, I was thrilled that you have the guts to put driving cell phone talkers to shame. Texting and driving is for suckers. Try reading a magazine! Thanks for the smile….and not killing me on my way home. Cheers, Dave

Today’s letter was written by Name: Dave Sohnchen Twitter: @davesohnchen Blog: http://davesohnchen.com Written From: Kelowna, BC (Canada)
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Lessons From Creeping a Crotch Rocket Poser

Dear Crotch Rocket Poser, Judging by the size of the trophy you were holding while posing and throwing up what looked to be gang signs in front of your canary yellow crotch rocket, you must have won some sort of big competition. As I watched the photographer snap shots of you and your prize from the 4th story window overlooking the abandoned parking lot you now occupied, I realized that you had no idea I was watching you. (I felt a little bit like a creeper but that didn't last long). I began to wonder how often people are watching us without our knowing. Probably more often than we'd like to know. What kind of message are we sending with our actions or with the overheard words we say? I cringe at the thought.   PS - Contratulations on whatever contest you won.  -Dave
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Would You Cross the Street?

Dear Good Samaritan, Pretty cool to hear that you picked up a random teenager with bloody hands after he bailed skateboarding and gave him a ride home. You put yourself in his shoes and though of what was best for him. I wonder how many people would've crossed to the other side of the street (so to speak)? Pretty sure my hand is raised
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Dammit! I wish I had a burrito.

Dear Brosef, As you roared passed me on your Harley, the only thought that went through my head was "Damn, I wish I had a burrito to throw out the window right now". My best friend Baxter (he's a dog) would be sitting on the seat beside me and I'd have an epic moustache that would make Tom Selleck jealous. I wondered if the situation would unfold like it did in the movies. Would I hit you with the burrito, knock you off your bike only to find out that you were Jack Black right before you punt Baxter off a bridge? Man! I wish had a burrito. Instead, I watched your tail lights fade as you sped into the night none the wiser. Me? I still have a huge smile on my face, still wishing I had a burrito. Here's the real crazy thing: you made my night. I'm in a better mood, and you have no clue that you played a huge role in that. How often do you think that happens? We honestly have no clue how our actions impact random observers. What would happen if we lived conscious of that? Would it change the way we act, behave or even treat people? I sure hope it will.  -I'm Ron Burgundy?