Dear David Alexander,

A man who tries to live on the generosity of the Muses, I mean on his poetic gifts, seems to me somewhat to resemble a girl who lives on her charms. Both profane for base profit what ought to be the free gift of their inmost being. Both are liable to become exhausted and both usually come to a shameful end.

So do not degrade your Muse to a whore.

With suffering,

Schopenhauer

Dear Grand River Transit,

While I appreciate that during the winter months busses may be delayed and service less than perfect, it was somewhat irksome last night when I had to take a number 7 south around 9:50pm and did not, in fact, see one until about 10:30pm by which time I had already walked to my destination.

In that time, by your schedule, at least four busses should have passed me. Four. I could have understood if maybe they were about five or ten minutes late even though the roads were clear and the traffic light. But I walked for a very long time and didn't see a one.

What the hell?

I'm calling bullshit on you guys.

I don't want to hear that your busses were delayed or eaten by a horrible monster or taken by pixies or overturned by sorority girls.

I want your blood. Half a cup will suffice. It doesn't have to be all from the same person but I'd like the full amount before Christmas or something very bad will happen.

It may not involve feces, but I wouldn't bet your Ixpress fleet on it.

Go fuck yourself, assholes,

Corwin

Dear Golden Hawks Football Team,

Please win the Vanier Cup on Saturday so that I get to write about cheerleading for The Cord. You see, if you win, the paper will be 8 pages, meaning there will be room for me to write an editorial on cheerleading. If you lose, the paper will likely only be 4 pages, meaning my piece will be cut. So please win. I really love cheerleading and I really want to write about it.

Selfishly,

Carly