I Write Letters

Dear Edmonton, Canada,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the very first anti-sexual assault campaign aimed at the people who can actually make a difference: the goddamn perpetrators. If she doesn't want to sleep with you, and you sleep with her anyway, it's rape, folks. Don't be that guy indeed.


Dear Everyplace Else in the World,

Well, someone's set you a lovely example, haven't they? Where's YOUR poster campaign? Oh, right. You're busy blaming the victims. Never mind.


Dear The Pope,

When you try to get more in touch with Kids These Days, and so you soften your "no condoms ever" policy, so you cite as an example as someone who could use a condom and not be sinning "a male prostitute", what I am hearing is, the man who does everything that I think is bad (prostitute or customer) is still more important to me and more worth saving than the woman who does everything I think is good. The "worst" (by Catholic standards) man's health is more important, more beneficial, more worthwhile, than the "best" woman -- he should protect himself from HIV, but she should not. That is crap, and that is one of many reasons your church bothers me.


Dear Second Season of Chuck,

I must perforce stop watching you again. I keep trying to like you for my sister's sake. But every time you do that nudge-nudge, wink-wink thing at Jeff and Lester (that is, every time they come on screen), you basically say, yeah, we know these guys are douchebags, and we don't exactly endorse that, but don't'cha just wanna cut 'em some slack? No. No, I do not. Men who see women as walking, talking masturbation aides are never funny, unless they're at the bottom of a lake. I want to poke my own eyes out with a spoon every time I see them. I hope they die in a fiery blast from hell. Then and only then will I chuckle at them.


Dear First Season of Fringe,
Are you ever going to pick up? You don't offend me, except when you don't acknowledge the existence of the laws of physics you're breaking, and Joshua Jackson is quite fetching, but you are boring me and very soon you will get deleted off my hard drive if you don't get more interesting.


Dear Miles Vorkosigan,

Marry me.