Newsfeeds around the internet are chock full of “open letters”: personal notes of affection, animosity, or admonition to anyone from loved ones to lost loves. They’ve gotten popular on social media for good reason. For one, people like reading personal stories. For another, these letters are usually general enough to appeal to many. Regardless, they are compelling. I am not a compelling person, so here are my variations on the open letter format:

To my professors:

Hello. I’m Tyler, in case you weren’t sure. I’m usually in the back laughing about the thoughts in my head. I know I don’t say much, but I truly have nothing constructive to add. You think any opinion is a quality one, an important one, but I assure you, even if I was actually paying attention, the words that would come out would be either irrelevant or unnecessary. So you can go on instructing the people that are actually invested, and I’ll go on entertaining myself and flipping in and out of the discussion.

To my roommate’s hamster:

Stop trying to claw your way out of your cage. I know it sucks in there, all small and poop-filled, but the sound is quite annoying, and your efforts are all for naught. Also, please stop trying to scale the walls of your cage. Since you’ve gotten older and bigger, you can now get pretty high, and you’ve figured out how to climb on your wheel; that’s why we have that book on top of your cage. You can’t lift a book; it weighs more than you. Unless you’re doing some iron-pumping and getting jacked overnight, you won’t get out of there, but you never know. Maybe one day I’ll wake up to a pissed off rodent with bulging pectorals holding a knife to my throat.

To the mashed potatoes I had for dinner:

Though you were instant and not fresh, I enjoyed you thoroughly. As anyone who knows me could tell you, I love me a steamy pile of spud paste, and you were no exception. Yes, you buttery mass of awesome, you sit comfortably in my stomach, possibly migrating through my duodenum as I type. Your warmth fills me with ecstasy, and I miss your presence, for I now wish to enjoy our time together once more.

To people who write “open letters”:

Your stories are interesting and heartfelt, but don’t you think the format has gotten a bit overdone? I mean, look: now you have idiots like me mocking the style for a cheap laugh. Is that really the kind of attention you want to attract? As with anything else that was once new, it eventually gets old. Your stories are fine. The messages you’re trying to convey are fine. The method you use, however, is outdated. Maybe think of a new way to present your thoughts, like “An Open Email to My Best Friend’s Girlfriend” or “An Open Word Document That My Roommate Just Read.”

To the “Unknown” number that keeps calling me:

I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. Just stop calling. Maybe you’re trying to steal my identity. I don’t care. You can have it; I don’t want it anymore. If it means my “Lion Sleeps Tonight” ringtone won’t go off in the middle of class causing my heart to explode while I scramble for my phone, then so be it. Maybe you’re one of those clowns that are springing up everywhere terrorizing the townsfolk. You’re probably standing outside my window every time you call. That’s why you hang up every time I answer; you can’t risk being seen. That’s fine. I like the attention. Just stop calling.

To the girl I just sent a friend request to:

I realize we’ve only been in the same room one time and only talked briefly, but I keep seeing your face in the “people you may know” section, so I figured I’d make Facebook happy and acknowledge that they were actually correct. (It’s the little things.) I recall making fun of you for liking Pearl Jam, but lately, I’m starting to dig Pearl Jam. People can change, I guess.

To the folks who made “Killer Klowns from Outer Space”

Thank you.

To the lady that drives the bus:

Thanks for being such a friendly person every day. I know if I had to drive between the same three stops all day transporting a bunch of ungrateful assholes like me, I would be going insane after the first few hours. Not you, though. You truck (ha) through each day with a smile and a wonderful disposition. Plus, you held the bus that one day when you saw me walking toward you, and that was cool.

To the Cleveland Indians:

Keep it going, guys. I’d like to see a Cleveland championship go to a team I actually care about. That may sound greedy, but I don’t really want to wait another 50 years to get the next one. Remember, Jesus Christ may have been able to hit a curve ball, but if you’re struggling, consult Jobu.

To AMC:

It’s almost Graboid season. Are you ready?

To my readers:

I appreciate the attention. I realize most of you are family and close friends, but I’m glad I have at least a few people that enjoy my drivel. I dig the comments, likes and shares, so if you keep suffering through my articles, I’ll keep pumping out bullshit.

Yours in the most sincere sarcasm,

Tyler Wise